The Aftermath of Wisdom Teeth

The hole in the back of my mouth feels like a cavern,
something you could hide a runaway in,
someplace you could lose the enterance to.

The salad bowl on the top shelf
in the kitchen cabinet is dark blue 
and reminds me to open a window in the middle of the night
when my jaw is on the floor
and I can't swallow on my side. 

The freezer is now my friend.
I want to shove my whole head in the gap
between the frozen peas and ice cream,
bring a blanket with me and sleep there,
wake only when the week-long promise of healing arrives. 
 
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Love to write

VT

YWP Alumni

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