The
tooth fairy lives on the fringes
of
doubt when you’re six years old
and
growing up too fast, lives there
with
fairy tale princesses and Santa Claus,
hiding
in dreams even as he exchanges
teeth
for quarters under a pillow
held
down by a drowsy head, nodding;
“He
does, too,” she says,
“I
saw him there, once,”
trying
to sound convincing, confident,
and
fighting the sleep that keeps him alive.
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