The Tooth Fairy Wants to be a Digital Nomad

I.

I’m not quite sure how it escaped my attention.

The constant loss of teeth as a child.

From the presence of mom’s pearl to porcelain.

The uplifting of dust unto darkness and soft tissue.

To "never how I did know to miss you” to

blood clot.

II.

It’s not so easy to forget—but I manage.

Except yesterday. Where-which, I

swallowed a sliver of my back right molar.

I ground it out in the evaporation of daylight.

III.

I have panic attacks when I can’t sleep.

I am self-diagnosed with the disease of:

“I desperately don’t want to inconvenience the Tooth Fairy.”

For only she cannot work remotely—Only

In one place.

At one time.

At the beck-and-call of blood sacrifice.

IV.

Sigmund is begging me to be more original.

But everything I write is there at the gum-line.

V.

Last night, the Tooth Fairy told me she wants to be a Digital Nomad.