Olivia Lawrence

Dear Hester

I know
she’s grown
rows of teeth like
buckshot or thimbles or
stones just small enough
to tuck in your pocket
or string
on a necklace I know
you’ve thought about
the way they’d look
on the floor clenched
in a fist hanging
from her mouth
her tongue
on a hook
face like a fish
waiting
for water
there are other ways
to do this