Quiet

Late, I would lay on the bed in my room striped
with pink and green wallpaper, dotted
with pink and green flowers, adorned
with pictures of kittens with pink ribbons
and sexless teen idols, stuffing my mouth
with crisp, crumbling crackers, my mouth more
dry with each square saltine I shove—
one after another after another after another—
into my mouth, catching the corners, burning
my tongue with salt, stretched with starchy,
floury debris clumping in wads behind my teeth,
in my cheeks, until I couldn’t swallow, forced
to gulp milk to free the cloying glue that sealed
my mouth
shut.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s