Tinfoil

When I was young I had braces on my teeth and when they were taken off, the metal brackets were left on my back molars
Only removed long afterwards, I tasted tinfoil for years
I remember that sensation like something I learned but forgot about
A hole where the knowledge escaped

The origin of the word zeitgeist at the back of my breath
Is a matter of time plus the ghost
I’ll flip a coin/ stay right where you are
An inherent crookedness:
Either never see snow again or let it fall forever

Things that remain
Like storms from the decade when I was a child
Electricity caught on speech impediments
Remembered in hindsight
Things that vanished but somehow also didn’t
Long after we’d swallowed them whole

Nate Maxson is writer and performance artist. The author of several collections of poetry, he lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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