Recurring dream
where black pours out of light fixtures like oil. We are tiny people, children, our hands small as can be. Holding utensils. Our teeth falling out between our fingertips and the roots full size and twirling like pink lengths of taffy. We are at school again. The teeth are yellow and caked all over with caramel powder. Trying to speak and stuttering we argue over who gets to ride the tricycle to play the tag & chase game where you cannot move if the sun is behind clouds. As soon as the sun comes out you can
pedal as hard as your legs
are willing to go.
On a rooftop with the fences clear in view. We are talking much too fast and slowing it down to be heard. While dodgeball flies to our left. Recurring dream. Jaw sore from the time Anthony smacked me after a cheap shot I took out on him when I was 11. Never expecting a white guy as goofy as he was had moves. At the bell. Seconds before recess ended. After the student teacher left to poo and we started playing tackle instead of two hand touch. With the fences clear in view. On top of that roof. Pulling our teeth until
the nerves came loose like pink and purple and blood blue yarn threads we talked too fast and
came back around to
explaining to our parents how we got home
with half our teeth gone.
and their heads shaking. Our stories growing in complexity. If only to stem the left and right tide. Waking on the concrete. Dodgeballs still zipping beside our ears. The tricycle game flowing without us. Our noses bleeding and heads pounding. Not knowing what we did wrong. Our bodies in all out rebellion and our pockets full of our own teeth. Across the street the park is shining. The wooden jungle gym red painted is enormous and we fall into tantrums laying on the concrete because our sneakers are beneath the planks of the bridge. Where we left them. The day before.
