Swimming in between stubborn kindergarten gums,
my mouth is full of blood.
We pull up to that blue house
while the kitchen curtain is on fire.

Cake icing fingerprints the wooden table
from where the knife must have slipped.
I am standing in it’s place watching my mother drink from the sink.
On linoleum sun,
kids sit licking fingers in the flames.
Her hands are clean.

There are alarms that don’t go off
in homes that don’t say I love you.
We put our teeth under the pillow anyway.

—–

Elizabeth Tobin lives in Medford, Massachusetts. She is a firm believer that experience is content and writes with her voice. She enjoys blogging about street style and the importance of language as a matter of character. She hopes to move any direction but north east. http://www.thestyleunderdog.com