Julianna Baggott

We with Teeth and Eyes

for Pinsky 

I have played dumb all my life -- little girl, wide eyed

and wanting, but even my teeth have teeth.

My skin is so fine it bruises up like fruit, like inner eyes rising, plumly, to the surface of my bare arms. 

But I will take the punch and love it deep inside my body.

I do not want the poem to arrive already in its casket, wax-risen from beneath its tight skin, waxed hair, the comb pulled through it so you can see the teething.

Put the motherfucker in a chair, punish him with jazz, poor little white man. Poor little -- sometimes I'm the poor little white man -- but let's pity him nonetheless. Let's zap the motherfucker, because I'm tired of playing dumb. My whole body is covered in eyes, risen eyes.

Pinsky, even my teeth have teeth.

I desire to write a Plath poem -- and in it Pinsky is my Daddy.

Because there are so many of me -- so many of us -- here, writing with the hot breath of taught history on our necks -- and we are all tired of playing dumb. We all want to zap the motherfucker.

Because even our teeth have teeth and our skins are covered in risen eyes. 

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