will you brush my teeth for me? is the question tossed about this house at night
while bats flap their wings outside, not knowing the myths they carry
it’s healthy to learn to trust people
that’s what all the therapists & self-help books say
I know a thing or two about the teeth in my jaw
attachment theory says we need consistent love from our caregivers
for the inconsistent times, we have stuffed animals & blankies
we have our wings to wrap around our cold quivering bodies
it’s the moments like small gods stacked on top of each other in a trench coat
it’s you smiling through a foamy mouth while I decide what to read in bed
we go looking for molars with just the right crunch
the right break-you-open-&-see-what’s-inside
but we never look in the most obvious of places
(the loneliness of an underwear drawer off its track)
earlier there were the too-full grocery bags, the list, the spilt blueberries,
the you watching me watching you eat a meal I made
the dog follows us into the bedroom
he tells stories with his eyelashes, their snowflake linger
I should be listening but I can’t stop thinking about a baby bat
hanging upside down hugging a teddy bear

Marisa Crane is a queer, nonbinary writer and editor. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in Pigeon Pages, Pidgeonholes, Drunk Monkeys, among others. They currently live in San Diego with their wife. You can read more of Marisa’s work at marisacrane.org and their Twitter handle is @mcrane_12.