For Everyone Asking

Yes, those are teeth.

Last week they were pale bumps under the lip.

I kept putting up the picture

where your mouth held nothing

but the pink of itself.

People liked that one.

The bowl was blue. You slept inside it.

I warmed the mash. I washed your chin.

At night the fridge clicked on, your jaw

clicked back, and I lay there listening

to the house grow one more hinge.

I was getting some sleep, thanks.

The bowl had a chip where I dropped it.

I turned that side toward the wall.

Your tongue kept finding it.

I filed the edge smooth. You licked

white dust from the whorls of my thumb.

I tapped the rim before each meal.

The small tin sound went through your ribs.

You woke all mouth. My hand went in

with food and came back less afraid.

I told people you knew me.

I filmed the feeding twice.

In the first one I pulled away

and you went hungry for eleven seconds.

In the second one I kept my wrist still.

The second one is up.

You learned to grind the gristle down.

I learned to fold the wet sleeve in

so the red stayed off the bed.

By morning the blood had stiffened it.

I put my hand through yesterday

to bring you breakfast.

You sleep with your jaw working.

Sometimes I count the slow clenches.

By the time I stop

I have bitten the inside of my cheek.

For everyone asking, yes, I'm proud.

I've stopped showing the bowl beside you.

It made the room look small.

There is a clean patch on the floor

where it used to stand.

The rest of the floor is the colour of feeding.

I taught you open with my thumb

laid flat against your jaw.

Open, I said, and fed the word some meat.

Now open moves from mouth to door.

I hear it eating at the jamb.

I post a close-up of the grain.

Someone says beautiful.

The bitten pine is bright

where the old varnish ends.

I keep the shavings in a jar.

They smell more of the tree than the door did.

I've fixed the latch twice.

I angle the camera higher.

A cat goes along the garden wall.

You follow it with the part of your mouth

that used to close around my thumb.

The cat doesn't look in.

I had a date in mind.

Then I checked the weather.

I sent the forecast to the people asking when.

At the bottom of it: high winds.

I read that bit again.

This morning you cracked the bone yourself.

I stood beside you with the spoon

until the metal warmed.

There was nothing left to mash.

I took longer than usual washing up.

Later you rested your jaw on my knee.

I could feel the new teeth through your cheek.

I sat through the pins and needles.

I had missed your weight.

There is no new picture.

The door is open. Wind gets under

the strip of pine still clinging to the hinge.

I stand in the gap with the blue bowl.

You have reached the wall.

I tap the spoon against the rim.

I haven't put anything in it.