He Grinds His Teeth is a poem about people and how everyone gets through life, some of us easily, some of us with great difficulty.
He Grinds His Teeth – Poem About People
He grinds his teeth, he doesn’t grit them like me or knaw the table like he once did while still travelling. And when he grins the wind blasts the back door wide open.
At times, you see a rosebush at the back of his throat where frogs may croak but here, rose petals settle his breath and birth velvet words to rival a soft day of mellow rain.
Between my molars, nothing but my jaw’s unrelenting or a woodchip whipping my nape into shape. Is time a grinding, a winding or a kneading? A gritting or a binding of people and places
weaving a cloak one would hope will clothe words so mouths be open and breaths knit us together, stitching pearls and bread into his bones, and mine, and yours?
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