The Mouth's Ability

Abstract

The Mouth's Ability Josh Rathkamp (bio) Right now my son is eating blinds,pulling the laminate so far backI think it will snap and the blinds will blind him.Yesterday he ate the park,he ate the metal ringconnecting the swing to the poleand on the swinghe may or may not have eaten some gnatflying foolishly near his always open mouth.He's eating clumps of cat hair, cat tails,he's crawling after cat food and flippingthe dish after the drawn-out journeyacross the tile floor. He'll eat the tile,he's tried the carpet and rugs and shoes.He's taken towels downoff racks just to taste a corner.He's spent whole dinners sucking breastmilk popsicles while he sits in a lapor grown big boy brave enoughto venture the one foot over to his own seat,the one we bought that turns 360so he can look at his mom or his sisteror clear out the window to the grass and trampolineand the stucco wall and the trees and housesand roads that lead far away from his mouth,his mouth that coos and gurgles and growlsand cries so loud even the moon gets confusedabout the many years of his mouth'sability to count, to say my belly is hungry,my belly may never be full. [End Page 107] Josh Rathkamp josh rathkamp has published two collections of poems, A Storm to Close the Door (2016 Georgetown Review Poetry Prize winner) and Some Nights No Cars At All. His work has appeared in numerous literary journals and public art projects, including American Poetry Review, Southern Review, and Rattle. He directs the Creative Writing Program at Mesa Community College. Copyright © 2018 The Massachusetts Review, Inc.