The Locked Hinge

The dentist leaned back and lowered his mask

to ask about the grind of my teeth.

I didn't know what to say to the task

of explaining the fire that burns underneath.

I wake at three in the morning to find

my molars are fused in a desperate bite.

It's the physical debt of a busy mind

working through all of the laundry at night.

I look in the mirror and see the white strain

of tendons that pull at the base of my chin.

I’m holding the world like a heavy-link chain

and waiting for the actual break to begin.