Ode to milk teeth

A black felt tip clunks clumsily

Against the bone white pearls in her wide mouth

As she sits at the table drawing her father riding a bike.

She gives him blue hair and orange skin.

 

A compressed juice box lies on its side,

Dribbling apple and mango juice

Down the crevices in the wooden table

Like tens of tiny rivers.

 

Her strawberry pink gum cracks and crunches

As one of the pearls becomes insecure and falls

To the table top. She holds it up in infant hands.

She has never felt so rich 

Author's Note

Unfinished