Fangs

By Aoife Daly

It took me a long time to learn not to smile with sharp teeth bared,

Lips stretched,

Eyes small

And squinted.

It was too fierce an expression for the family photo albums,

Too ugly for picture days.

I have been tamed by the passing of time.

But when the clock stops ticking,

My aching bones will crawl their way out

From my decaying flesh.

My rotting hands will claw through the dirt

And drag me away 

From my shallow grave.

I will stumble shakily

To the place my childhood home once stood.

Curl into a ball like a scolded dog on the scorched earth,
Where the fire spilt from the hearth like a mudslide 

And devoured this home.

Then I’ll finally settle down to gnaw at my own bone marrow

Until all that’s left is my own sharp, sharp teeth.