My Grandmother’s Mouth, Postpartum
Once, she opened it as usual, with a soft click of cartilage slipping farther. Each and every jaw unlocks this way, a complex apparatus that “translates,” as they say, past the first ahhh of release. She felt it, like in cinematic slow motion, the articulated snap of saliva when the tongue took its half-automatic fall to the floor, and then the still awe of being all the way agape. Who will witness that moment? Who will think through the moves she took in laying out her body on the bed? Who will translate what it meant for this woman to test the muzzle, if not me, too, who can buy a gun? I will not turn my head.