Jennifer Lynn Krohn
Under my bed lives a mouth.
Just a mouth. Nothing else.
It swallows Micro Machines, Legos, socks
loose change, used staples, and hairpins.
They don’t disappear.
A mouth by itself isn’t very threatening.
What accompanies the mouth—
and the gastro-
A mouth by itself
I sleep while the mouth swallows
and swallows it again.
It may even swallow me,
I’d never know.
Jennifer Lynn Krohn was born and raised in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she currently lives with her husband. She earned her MFA from the University of New Mexico, and she currently teaches English at Central New Mexico Community College. She has published work in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Necessary Fiction, Storm Cellar, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Gingerbread House Literary Magazine, among others.