by Bess Fernandez

Incisor

Bess Fernandez | JuLY 2026 | Issue 53

Poetry

what i want is what my body says it needs,
cause effect
stinging nettles
your named raised on my forearm
touch the first letter,
my throat alight in your palm,
its angle how it folded
my knees to yours, then how
i breathed
the sound of my own teeth humming,
their swarm,
a gift

incisor,
split my collarbone
to anchor
the thing is, you tasted so human
i forked the last letter,
let you dig a red river,
how your fingers found my mouth,
how they stayed there
who do I sing for?
your body sleeping

and the only three things I can see in the smoke-gray dark,
head, shoulder, hip
three open parentheses

Bess Fernandez is a writer living in Seattle, WA. They previously ran the newsletter Gay Takeaway, which published a series of interviews with queer writers and artists about the food they love and the stories behind some of their most memorable meals. They are currently at work on a book of poetry about the best part of the human body. Teeth. They have been published in Lungfull!, The New York Times, and elsewhere.