teething

when i was a shark 
i spit necklaces into my hands 
& hung them from every low branch.
the ocean was a field 
of capture. splitting enough
to snag a man on his way to sirens.
guilt became a red planet.
the pin between clouds. when you have
thousands of teeth, what is 
the loss of one razor? underneath
my pillows i am always the jeweler.
purveyor of sharp children. 
snakes come to gaze. men the size
of flutes on their hands & knees.
dimes ready & pleading. they want
to be dissected by me. want to
caress the edges of my mouth.
i am not all that unlike a pear tree.
visiting the bottom of a bell
i found a whole chapel of blood.
opened wide in the mirror.
saw my father's face at
the back of my throat.
swallowing harder would never
get him to go down. they will
always come with more. 
more rain. more waterfall. more 
chesnuts. for every tooth
another waits like a sibling.
three sons. all of us shedding
our bodies. i keep the teeth
in a shoe box. shake it 
to hear my own volume.
one brother loses hair.
the other, limbs. i plant teeth
in the dirt. slipt them into 
riverbeds. when i was a shark
no one put a thumb
to my lips. i was just a darkness
only a bathtub could hold.
now though, now when i loom
it comes with jars & taproots.
i bury a skeleton of myself.
float on my back in a lake
where old mouths go to remember
how to speak. more teeth come.
always more.