• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 11
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Gold Teeth

Rushika Wick

That's right.
In the heat of the night
mas o menos
you with your gold teeth
in your pocket
this Mezcal drink stinking
on your hot breath
you come back and kick
me for Tamales
waking me from sleep
foot in my bony hip,
hips that carried your sons,
angry warrior.

There is earth-taste in my mouth
from where you kissed me
but like with Mezcal
you have harvested me;
cut off my roots and leaves
to reveal my heart
and then have had it cooked
in a pit oven
for three days
– all smoky –
until I am smashed with red banana
pineapple and sugar;
sweetness all over again.
I love love love you for that.

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Gold Teeth

Rushika Wick

Then I am left left left
to ferment
in this place.
I can tell you, whoever
eats this worm will have
some bad fortune,
bad omens,
bad things.

In the blue of dawn
you will ride away while
I pretend to sleep under my
grandmother's lace gown;
colder than deep water.
Grandma, hear me...
Re-sew my heart with
fine bone needles so
I grow strong
and wish him never to return.

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