#9 – Three Poems – Sam Sax

 
This week, Drunk in a Midnight Choir celebrates our One Year Anniversary! Since we launched on February 6, 2014, we’ve had the great privilege of publishing a whole lot of amazing work, from a wide array of talented contributors. All week, we’ll be catching you up on some highlights from the last year. Here we present to you the top ten most-read posts of the year, counting down from ten.
 

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.

 

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.