Tooth Fairy
I keep finding snail shells wherever I go.
In the corners of my pockets, packed
with lint and clover stems or
pressed into the small of my back while I try
to sleep, turning over and over.
Last week one found its way in-
to the compartment in my car where I keep loose change.
It must be someone’s idea
of a practical joke. Although there is nothing
practical about it. I imagine this Puck army
crawling into my room to tuck
a shell, bronze translucence, under my pillow,
like some estuarine tooth fairy. I dream
this creature comes
and replaces
all my teeth
one by one
with fragile apertures,
begging to be filled.
Its apex pressing
firm into
my tongue and gums
until I wake up
staggering.
F. Elliot is a queer Virginian writer. He was a reader for Blackbird and has a degree in English and a minor in creative writing. His work has previously appeared in Pwatem and Last Leaves Magazine, with more forthcoming.