Читать книгу Cutting Room - Sarah Pinder - Страница 11

You can tuck your whole hand neatly inside the pocket

of your cheek. Some girls can, anyway.

Here’s one in a skinny kitchen in Ojai:

the slip of her fist as a minnow,

fine and quick past her incisors

to the wrist, shrugging,

no biggie, arm hooked to her face

like a tentacle or a hose.

There’s a box labelled TEETH in this kitchen.

She touches the lid like it could do something special.

I haven’t been here long – I don’t even know

if teeth are inside, really, it’s just a guess –

but I’ve never seen anything brave or

famous come from a tooth.

Even while the automated lawn starts

watering itself, ratcheting a stream

through the ink of the open window,

even as she stops up her infinity mouth,

even now, I won’t open it.