baby teeth

when the day collapses early
before I’ve even dressed

when I drop my talisman
down the kitchen sink

when I find my cheek once more
beneath your planted heel

I think of things of no weight,
the kind that I might tuck behind my ear,
or in the silk pouch by the door

a gentian,

a thimble,

my gathered baby teeth

and I imagine burying them beneath me
a fairy ring, a funeral
for the soft parts of me that know only
the kiss of your

backhand.

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