LAURA NUCKOLS

Treasure

Women in this family save
baby teeth as keepsakes, while the baby
grows up to shed its softness,
picking scabs, eating nails and dirt.
Mine. Who else could claim them?
How could we part from them?
They are not remains, they are lifeless
scraps of a ledge-walking heart
rattling in a lacquer rabbit box.
No. If you were a tooth, I would be too
sentimental to bury you, too
superstitious to keep you. I can’t look,
everything ends. Lock of hair. Shoe.
The urge, I hope, to devour you.