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September 18, 2026

Tooth Song

Anna Drasko

soft skull of a man told me I have

soft teeth. My teeth, like the fuzzy piece of peach,

soft. Have you heard this? That even teeth can be

soft? Molars worn from carrying myth, slicing 

soft yoke. I saw salt dissolve 

softly into hot water, the frogs

soft bellies wail in vicious brine, the dusk light

softly croaked into night. My brain no longer thinks

soft thoughts— I thought if I spent

soft green bills on a guitar, I’d learn to

softly pluck its steel strings. It’s sitting there, neck 

softened with dust. A man said women are made to be

soft things, 

soft things playing instruments are unnatural. 

soft bruised spots make the sweetest apples. Try it: ask

softer questions. Speak

softer.

softer than olives. Stick your head under

soft sand and you, too, will become

soft. Like the underside of a kitten’s paw,

soft. Say it again! Till it loses all meaning! Till his

soft skull melts, salt dissolved, still

soft into hot water, and the hardbacked teeth

softly suck the mess up.