Teething

Forget all else I have told you.

There is no calm inside me,

no serenity

no silence.

I have told you

I have nothing more to say

but I do

I do

and it comes out

only in wails at myself

when I get away from you.

I have hidden what I am:

a teething child

snapping at tombstones

and bricks.

I have chewed a box of knives

down to their handles,

gnawed curbs and sidewalks

for the taste of the moss in their cracks

and the feet that tread them.

I have ground my teeth down

to a mouthful of grit

and bloody nubs of gum.

I polish the back of my throat

in swallows.

Even that brings no quiet.

Call a dentist, please

please please.

Build me

a new grin with pieces

of chalk.

I was born with

a blackboard tongue

that needs scrawls

bitten into it.