My father and I with jelly bean teeth.

My father and I are candy people
and the first time I cut my knee riding my
bike behind his I noticed that my
leg bones were woven from licorice--
the cherry kind that you can peel apart
if you have patience-- my father
doesn't have patience so his knee bones
are knots of black licorice rope-- the
type that only dad and I like--
the type that gives you green teeth--
green like my gumdrop knuckles.
my father taught me to punch boys 
with gum drops so that I could scratch their cheek
bones with the sugar crystals.
He poured a row of Mike & Ikes under my lip
to form a mouth guard-- cardboard 
movie theater box mouthful--
Told me to fight with my feet--
to fight with boys because I was
his little boy-girl rock candy warrior--
He made my sun freckles from 
skittles and the pink star burst that
he always saved for me.
The last licorice he always saved for me--
the last gummy shark
gummy fried egg
gummy bear cluster-- mutation of 
sibling cubs melted together in
the heat of the glove box of his jeep--
My father got tired of cutting my 
bangs so he tied them up with red licorice
rope-- jump rope-- rope like ladders
and rope like monkey bars-- ropes 
that held us together 
in the back of the jeep--
and I don't remember what carnival it
was but I will never forget sitting
on his lap to watch fireworks
and opening a bag of peach rings--
that we both knew were both the 
rings of Saturn and the crowns 
we gave the sunset and the waist bands
of karate uniforms and the hub caps
of a rusted blue jeep 
only we knew was bold enough 
to drive through a midnight.
We never drove to Canada but I pretend we
did. We would have eaten licorice for
breakfast and gotten cavities
so bad that they'd make us dentures 
from jelly beans-- sweet teeths 
for the sweet toothed--
More than twelve Saturdays of my life
I have had a half pound of gummy worms
for breakfast-- felt them 
wriggle as the day progressed 
and felt them make their way through 
my veins where they colored me 
the color of sunsets 
and fireworks.
My father and I still have jelly bean teeth--
and sometimes the only
way I know how to tell him 
that I remember everything we are and 
and were and will always be
is in sugar-- I still punch boys
with gum drops on my knuckles.