I dreamt my teeth fell onto the tile
floor, my jaw clenched closed
so you took a crowbar to my
chapped lips, my tongue shriveled
into a salted snail or I guess now
you call it escargot. It’s funny
how cooked things change names.
If I were baked into a quiche, would
you stand in line at the courthouse or
at the DMV & rename me a delightful
dish, a recipe to pass down to your
grandson in law? Surround me
at the next family dinner, at the dining
room table with wobbly legs. Pull me
apart with a fork. Make sure I am well
done. Brag about the hours spent
in the kitchen & when asked how you
made me, give a speech, something
like, step one: break the teeth.
Kristin Kehl is a senior at Florida State University, graduating with a degree in Creative Writing. She has work published in the Kudzu Review and forthcoming in Cat Family Records. Her work explores the transience in the intersections of identity and the forming of it. She hopes to pursue an MFA in Poetry in the near future.
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