is an ocean. Her breathing,
a storm at sea. My mother
is having a tooth pulled today.
This sweet tooth she has had
since she skipped from her tenement
to buy strawberry ice cream
for her parents, running
home before it melted.
That same molar bit into rations
during poverty in war
and through the feathery
wedding cake her mother baked.
One eyetooth drew blood
from the flesh of a midwife’s arm.
El otro diente, another tooth
cracked on an apple last week.
One by one, my mother is losing
all of her teeth. Now I understand
what this means:
someday she won’t be hungry.
