New Food

I am silt

at the gumline,

some thin river’s

bank in my mouth.

Don’t tell the stone

I’ve swallowed

the stone. Let the fat

planet spin on.

I am heavy

beside the river with

my lips & cheeks

stuck between some dirt

& the rest.

Owned by a place

& in the way.

Two bonsai trees

loom huge, even

the ravens flashing

between branches

must be no bigger

than gnats.

The river misspeaks

my name. Did I

lead it astray? The stone

inside me twists

a blossom, knots

me up, wants

something I can’t.

Come put your mouth

to my belly button.

Come breathe

a silverfish

through my evidence.

I’m a parasite,

the oldest kind

of mother. As

nothing as I can.