Milk Teeth

God’s mouth opens and his teeth fall to the ground like seeds,
Burrowing under the soft black soil, 
Growing in the cracks of our concrete casket.
O’ blessed garden, born against the odds.

Eve sits by the trunk of the last rotten tree in a wasp nest city,
Hunger heavy in her stomach like the watermelon seeds
Her mother always warned her not to swallow.
Childhood superstition still fits her,
Like the faded sweatshirt fits over her shifting shoulders,
Awkward and unfamiliar, another sign that time is passing.

“They’ll take root in your stomach,
And grow and grow until you’re overcome.”
She hears the warning ring out,
Looks up at the rusted leaves and the soft green apple
Still clinging stubbornly to the bare bough.
It rests perfectly in her hands, hard but not too hard,
And the hunger aches like her mismatched legs.

She shines it on her torn sleeve and bites.
Her hand pulls back, blood bright on the white flesh,
As she spits her last milk tooth into her open, shaking palm.

---

Originally written in 2017.