I have been grinding my teeth in my sleep. I buried my grandfather. I have been waking up at 6am without an alarm clock. I went to the dentist for the first time since my dad left. I am having feelings again. You can replace teeth. I am normally good at ignoring the pain. My greatest fear is being put under. I have fake front teeth. I buy new clothes. Your gums are so soft, the dental technician says when she sticks the sharp instrument between my molars. Technology is amazing. There’s some space here, but it’s normal. I had my wisdom teeth removed years before my dad left. There is a God. I have told very few people about my fake teeth. I take a selfie, one where you can see my real fake teeth. My stomach is sticking out. Before the surgery, I told him not to put me under. I’m only going to get hurt again. There is no God. I am ghost and ghosting and ghosted. I hunt myself. Does this make you feel uncomfortable? Body of wrecked bottles and glass guts. I was awake the whole time. Please tell me this is worth it somehow. The wearing down of something useful.

Hannah Cohen lives in Virginia. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Bad Anatomy (Glass Poetry Press, 2018). She’s a contributing editor for Platypus Press and co-editor of Cotton Xenomorph. Recent and forthcoming publications include Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Noble/Gas Qtrly, Longleaf Review, Pretty Owl Poetry, Cosmonauts Avenue, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Gravel, and elsewhere.

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