dissection of a toothbrush
                                       for gina olson

i put each canine & molar to bed 
one at a time in the teeth room.
flick on the night light that projects
stars across the roof of my mouth.
i have always wanted to have bloodly
little roots holding me into place.
instead, i tend my teeth. they are the likely footprints
of this tiny life of ours. in the bathroom
without the rest of my face
i take the toothbrush & tear it apart.
at first it is for science & then for pleasure
& then for everything i cannot name.
all day my partner & i fought over 
the color of the moon. when we were done
he asked, "do you love me?" over & over
until i ran out of ways to say "yes."
i searched out all the toothbrushes in
the house. i was careful not to wake up
any of the teeth. stuck their heads
in the hardening dirt. 
i hope we can never change. not at all.
he has to know the moon is red.
so so red.