rock tumbling 

when my father was a boy
he used to take his teeth
& tumble them until they shined.
sell them for quarters
that he would spend
on junk ammo. stay up all night
shooting at the moon. he never
landed a single shot
but once he shot a whale
& the whale loomed 
blimp-like over his aunt's house.
i got his ability 
to grow teeth back
like a shark. he promised all of us
he no longer sold but sometimes
i would hear the whirl of the machine.
the grit in its guts 
& the rocks bruise-kissing
in their little dark world. 
i would go to watch him. he collected
all kinds of rocks from beside creeks
& from holes in the walls. then, of course,
plucking out his own teeth 
like ripe raspberries. 
when he was really alone
he would become a little boy again.
i pictured him & me 
inside the tumbler
falling over each other 
until we shine. the grit beneath
our fingernails. his tongue of marble.
"we don't have to tell anyone,"
he said the one time i caught him.
he placed a tooth in my hand
& said, "this is for you."