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 grandmother’s 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.