The dentist wants to cut my tongue.Several times he says I lisp a little.Say sixty-six? he asks. I try my bestto sound adult. Under my baby toothstill hides a fang. At 15, a cavityate through my molar. I used a fine-tippedtweezer to pick away bits of food, clean it out.It was weeks before I told my mother, monthsstill before we could pay for a root canal.At night, I grit my jaw until my smilebecomes a perfect bite, and my bone pops asI part my lips. I look down at a handfulof ivory, tongue at bloody gums. On White Sunday, the priestwears red. In my book of Sacraments, moteflames hovered above the men’s brows and crowns.Eve was the first to speak, not name, and she spoke to an animal with a fork in its head.My tongue lies on the floor of my mouth.
Pentecost
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“Pentecost” from JUMP THE GUN: by Jennie Malboeuf.
Published by BOA Editions on April 15, 2025.
Copyright © 2025 by Jennie Malboeuf.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
Jennie Malboeuf is the author of jump the gun, part of the American Poets Continuum Series (BOA Editions, 2025), and God had a body (Indiana UP, 2020), selected by Adrian Matejka for the Blue Lights Book Prize. Her poems have appeared in Pleiades, The Southern Review, Virginia Quarterly Review, and Harvard Review. She lives in Kentucky.
“Jennie Malboeuf’s jump the gun is a book of temporal distortions, sudden jumps, hesitations, and slowed and sped up lines, that take the reader through a complex of registers circling gun culture, violence, family, and the natural world in often startling juxtapositions. It’s a formally thrilling collection, even as the content moves from lyrically beautiful to starkly brutal. ‘I’m so tired of the pattern of snow then rain. Irony after irony, your / suffering then mine handed / back and forth,’ Malboeuf writes, and I feel that tension, that inevitable ‘back and forth’ throughout the book, the closely observed violences enacted daily, directly presented, forcing us to look at ourselves, this world we’ve made. But even at its most unflinchingly conflicted, with ‘The father in father clothes. / The mother in mother hair,’ it’s filled with empathy, as this imperative to look, to remember, to see the world’s violence and misfortune, is also to remind ourselves that it’s also filled with creation, continuance. It’s a deeply humane book, one I’ve been utterly captivated by.”
—John Gallaher, author of Brand New Spacesuit
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