Apoptosis Jenny Fried
On a mattress in the woods I meet a man with smiling eyes, his teeth a
smashed finger piano. He can't close his lips, too busy showing me enamel
laid bare, the stretch of his face, the extras past his molars. He wants me
for something that is not me, how my smile could spread his wider, the
trophies that sit in my gums. When my grandmother died she was buried with
six teeth, a mouth full of losses and dark smoke. Her children came to the
wake with full faces. I cannot help but feel, when his hand is on my throat,
that my mouth is not mine to give.
Jenny Fried lives in California. She has work in or coming from X-R-A-Y, Cheap Pop, Okay Donkey
and others.
Detail of photo on main page courtesy
of Slice of NYC.
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