Switched on Gutenberg: Volume 4 Issue No. 2

Susan Terris

THE SOUND OF YOUR MOTHER CHEWING

Sometime in childhood you begin to hear it,
know her teeth are starting to chip,
discolor as fillings
and crowns pulp food. Her swallows
are intolerable, intake of breath,
the touch of her hand.
Still, shrinking from toothmarks
or fingerprints, you
consider texture and taste, covet them.

Grasshopper, caterpillar, cricket chew
and keep chewing.
Children keep them in jars,
listen at night before all chewing grates
and touch hints of mortality.
Children, though alert to decay,
choose to pretend
their glass-walled caterpillars are
not chewing patiently toward oblivion.

Across great distances, countless mouths
chew. Mother's, too,
as she reaches and strains
to touch me again. "Tell me", I call into
space, "what you know about
flavor and rapture." Her mouth opens,
but instead of sound, butterflies arc.
Instead of ordinary touch,
I feel a dusting of pollen on my hand.

Susan Terris has published several books of poetry: Curved Space (1998, La Jolla Poets Press), Eye of the Holocaust (1999, Arctos Press), and Angels of Bataan (1999, Pudding House Publications). Ms. Terris's poetry has been published in many magazines, both print and on-line. "The Sound of Your Mother Chewing" first appeared in Painted Bride Quarterly.

Switched-on Gutenberg/Vol. 4, No. 2

Contents