My mouth, a disputed territory | Lorelei Bacht

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What one does or does not take into one’s
mouth: a variable narrowly monitored
by mother, my mouth being an extension
of hers.

Oh, how I defile it, coating it in charcoal,
in grit, in every grimy edible, inedible I
find in the garden, under bridges, in back
alleys.

I am to be seen and not heard, a feat which
I can only achieve by keeping my mouth
full. I choose to fill it not with her shiny
apples –

A red apple is not to be trusted, but
a snake is a snake and what a snake is:
delicious. Oh, how I defile it, coat it
in grit.

Grit of my mouth not clean enough

for mother to grant me medals – I guess
I’ll have to live on planes, instead,
swallow the sky of them.

Lorelei Bacht is a multicultural poet living, loving and dreaming in Asia. Her work has appeared / is forthcoming in such publications as Visitant, The Wondrous Real, Quail Bell, Abridged Magazine, Odd Magazine, Postscript, Strukturriss, The Inflectionist Review and Slouching Beast Journal. She is also on Instagram: @lorelei.bacht.writer

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