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.