pill to swallow

i unhinge my jaw for you.
take a horse pill & go to sleep
for seventeen years. i wake up
without any teeth. it is prom night
& we are running from our parents.
they have butterfly nets & i am
trying to get married without 
a throat. my friend asks, "what is wrong
with me?" i tell her nothing when 
really i mean, "most love is paper."
i fold an airplane with mine
& it almost holds us until we reach
the planetarium. there is a show playing
about planets without real names.
the ones who might have children on them.
my mother takes medicine disguised 
as helicopters. my father refuses
all kinds of good medicine. instead,
he buries skulls. lays out in the sun
until he turns back into clay. 
we build a candy machine
in the middle of a vacant lot.
people drive from all over to get
their special kind of healing.
the pills taste like sugar. they might
just be sugar but sometimes you need
a symbol. this is why communion wafers
taste like satellites. when we get home
i need to call you. i need to put on
the dress again so we can dance
without our faces on the roof.
all the nameless planets & their nameless moons
watching us in stadium seating. 
i was never cured of anything. thank god.
i love to be sick & bright.