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poetry


CARVING
by
Heather Foster

The summer I lost my front teeth,

I stayed with my grandmother for a week.

I snuck a dull knife

and a soap bar from the kitchen.

I scraped off flakes till I made a fish

with circles for scales, small enough to fit

in my grandmotherís apron pocket.


When I gave her the sculpture,

she slapped my cheek

for wasting soap.

The rest of the week, she made me

wash with the fish carving.

By the time I left, the scales

had worn smooth, the mouth was gone.



Heather Foster lives on a 144-acre farm in Tennessee with her husband, kids, and Ozzy the heavy metal rooster. She is currently completing her poetry thesis in the MFA program at Murray State University. Her poetry and fiction is featured or forthcoming in PANK Magazine, Monkeybicycle, and Country Dog Review.



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