Eggtooth
Whose bread I eat, his note I sound.
And so at last John Donne’s ghost spoke. Leaned up
out of my book and nearly bit me.
“Seven,” he says, “sponsors creation but
also vice. Three (and four) holy, but three
marks the rooster’s count.” His face
was gold, pounded thin. “I say
use me like an eggtooth, break
the shell that shields you, let me be the germ,
hoarder-of-calcium, the bulb of sharp
caruncle, expression of beak (of horn)
fashioning a toothlet to snout-thrust, barb
to barb what’s cracking away
by the very thing maintained
and encased. Enamel glaze
grades the puncturer’s tool. Draw the breath
by drawing the hole. Use my imbalanced
device, half-medieval, to shuck frank death
as you surge with goodbye. As you fast
and breathe and pay,
supposing the face a blade
sustained to sing and to fly.”
Ed. note: Jesse Nathan is a lecturer in the English department at Berkeley. “Eggtooth” was published in Harvard Review Online, June 23, 2021.
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Author: The Best American Poetry
