Three Poems – Sam Sax

TEETH


how elegant, the disarticulated human skull
where steel makes one fused bone many.
	
the mandible is a planter’s box outside my cold room in ohio:
the converted nursing home where old folks from poland 
and romania are all now trapped in the lights 
or trapped in the white paint.

                              *

antique sciences of the mouth 
can teach the history of science 
more than anything about the mouth. 
for centuries lancets and leaches 
were used on infant gums 
to assist teething, animal bone rattles 
drowned in mercury powder, 
a white gloved hand doing damage 
in a child’s bright mouth. 

                              *

my teeth are mine. felt them rise up under my tongue. 
wisdom came last. replaced each tiny forbearer.
		
forgot they grew where their parents died. so i am not 
surprised they ache and rot now, they scream when flooded 
with something sweet they do not deserve.

this is what happens when you forget your history,
the journey that brought you to the mouth, the labor
in the enamel, the tongue with no name,

when all you are is white.




I DARE YOU.

try  &      watch   a   horror   film 
from     the     point      of      view           
of    the    monster.         imagine, 
every    man     shrieks    at    the 
sight   of    you, children   throw
stones    &        laugh       at   your
blood,   a  mob  forms  on  your 
doorstep          with     pitchforks
 &  forceps  just   for   fun  or for
 fear.  this    is    your   wretched
 life.    you    didn’t    know  your
 name        until      they    named
 you.  didn’t   know  your   teeth
 were   fangs  until  they tried to
 pry   them     from   your  pliant
 skull,       didn’t        know    your
 hunger  was   so   unclean.      so
 you    learned   to   grow  in  the
 dark   as     darkness     grew    in
 you.        your         mirror          a
 massacre     of      light,        your
 appearance         a      film      reel
 warping    in  flame.     it’s      not
 until   you  love  a  boy  &  make
 him  like you  that  you’re   able
 to   curse  the  civilization   that
 assembled   your     fiction,     to
 gaze          upon         your       own
 grotesque    elegance    &  laugh,
 to    love    the       rough      hewn
 battle      of       your        haggard
 breath.    you    child   of  the  ax
 blade                        wheezing      in
 your    breast,  you   story   men
 tell   to      explain     away      the
 darkness  &      give      it     depth.
 you   apotheosis   of   the  oldest
 protest  hymn.       what   is    the
 ocean      besides      a        puddle
 without    you   in  it?      what   is
 the    grim     forest     besides    a
 factory       of      trees      praying
 to   be     shorn       into      paper?
 what  is                   your       mouth
 but     a    home,   but                    a
 haunted    motel,  but  a siren of
 terrible   righteous  noise.   now
 the   men   who  tormented  you,
 tremble   at   your    sound.       &
 when     you’re      finally    ready
 to   spread   wide  your  wild red
 wings,   it ends.        some     idiot
 girl       pierces        your     faggot
 carapace            with   her  car, or
 sword,                      or    word in  a
 dead   language   for   fun   or for
 fear            &         audiences        in
 darkened    theatres    release   a
 collective   sigh   as  you  perish,
 as  credits  roll   back  like    eyes
 &    you’re    reminded  this   is  a
 movie,  that   you  die  onscreen
 every   night.   try  & get  to  that
 last     scene    without    laughing
 or     weeping    or     eating      the
 dark alive. 




BESTIARY 

charybdis: 

when i suck in / i make deadly / whirlpools / ask anyone 
who’s managed / to climb out / alive

dragon:

patrol or pillage / he exhales and a whole village / burns / iron scaled
sentry / guardian of the ivory / tower i wrap my legs around / everyone 
thinks / he’s a brute / but for me / he lifts his breast plate / for me 
he welcome the quiver / and the arrow’s teeth.

golem:

take his hair in your hands / his dead / skin cells / his discarded
undergarments / take them / and make of them a new boy 
this effigy / his likeness and nothing / like him / breathe life 
into its clenched carapace // my god / i think i saw it / move

medusa:
	
when i saw / my face / reflected in terror / in his eyes / i turned 
to stone / or a pillar of salt watching my village burn / he was the village 
burning / maybe that’s a different story / maybe in the end 
only the snakes wept

siren:

he cries / and i / lashed to the mast of a ship / steer my body 
toward the sound / sheets bound around wrists and ankles 
tears make grief / a lighthouse you wear / when i hear him  
a huge wood wheel turns in my stomach / and i break / open
on / his jagged coast

werewolf: 

there are many words for transformation / metamorphosis  
metaphor / medication / go to sleep / beside the man you love 
wake up next to a dog / maybe the moon brought it out of him  
hound hungry for blood / maybe its your fault / or maybe 
it was there inside him / howling all along