Articulation

The fluorescent light in the stall

is humming a note I can feel in my teeth.

'Pacific.' I said it twice.

Like I was thinking of an ocean

instead of a detail.

They didn’t laugh, which is worse.

They just blinked and moved to the next slide.

I’m worrying the ridge of skin

with my molars—the one I’ve chewed

since third grade.

It’s a jagged little shelf.

A secret I keep behind my lips

because I can't stop trying

to eat my own mistakes.