Buried, somewhere, are your

wisdom teeth, still


I see them flash

in the mouth

of this boyfaced stranger,

his organs swollen

with seawater.

When I touch him

I feel your hands

in mine, the whites of

his eyes your

neon yellow track shoes.

I still taste

your birthday candles,

those faraway burning buildings.


His heart thumps as

I hold his wrists, he

offers me his pulse,

a privilege. If you

were still here I would

grab with anything I could:

my teeth, my hands, my teeth.


Molly Fels is a fourth-year medical student at Rutgers-Robert Wood Johnson Medical School.  Her poetry has been recently published in the Icarus Anthology, nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and Fels is the recipient of an honorable mention in the William Carlos Williams medical student poetry competition.  She is interested in writing about the experience of memory.