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.
fiction poetry "fact" photography