teeth garden

i lost my face one cantaloupe at a time.
sweet in the way gummy sharks are.
swimming to keep from the trench.
i bought as many clay pots as i could
to save my teeth. they fell like rain.
hail plummeting in the front yard. a dazed snow
in the back. i slip teeth into soil.
wait for all my faces to grow. a loud face
& a pineapple face & a rose water face.
lips first & then come the shut eyes.
i once grew a whole lover this way.
stole a tooth while he was sleeping. 
did he feel that fissuring? where another
self grows from the first. i wonder
if there are burials inside me or if
there is a chain linked fence. i do not know
how to eat without any faces. i carry
a spoon in my back pocket. a kitchen knife 
brandished like a solution. the hair 
sprouts wild. i tell a lover, "my hair is black."
which is a lie. my hair is whatever
it feels like being that day. It's been black
& gray & blue & buttery orange. 
the teeth are plentiful. grow blinking berries.
i take pictures. put them in baby clothes.
haven't you ever needed urgently 
to parent an inanimate object? i cradle
a pencil case. sing to an orphaned shoe.
i have to do what i have to do in order
to keep the remaining teeth in my skull.
last night they kept falling. duct tape. glue.
gorilla. a thin little hat pin. the plants 
are restless. i take them for a walk
in my old red wagon. the moon even grins.
full. canine. incisor. drinking glow.
there are still more of me to plant
& more to press deep into the wet earth
to never speak of again.