Burying the Baby Teeth
JAMES JAY
??.????° N, ???.????° W
Moving out,
I find them in
my medicine cabinet,
behind aspirin, and
cough syrups crusted closed.
A few years of teeth
clasped in a metal
Altoids container.
The harvest of the Tooth Fairy,
trading a dollar under the pillow,
while the dogs snored.
Now, a new job says go.
Your boys don’t believe
in these spirits anymore.
What do you do with this hoard?
Along the crabapple tree
in the backyard, I press them
in the dirt in rough rows
for any gods who’ll listen.
Now, now we move out.
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JAMES JAY has taught poetry at public schools, jails, community colleges, Northern Arizona University, and given Irish Literature lectures at the Arizona Highland Celtic Festival. He currently teaches poetry for the Missoula Writing Collaborative. He received the Copper Quill Award for his poetry, and his work has been featured on National Public Radio’s Poetry Friday on KNAU. His third book of poems, Barman, was recently published by Gorsky Press. For a decade, he served as the president of the Northern Arizona Book Festival. He has an M.A. in Literature from Northern Arizona University and an M.F.A in Creative Writing from the University of Montana. He owns a pub with his wife, the musician and runner Aly Jay. They have two sons and three dogs (they’re all a wily pack). In his spare time, he plays the ancient Irish game of hurling as a half-forward for the Thomas Meagher Hurling Club.
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In the 1960s orchards ran throughout this area of Flagstaff. It's mostly houses now, but fruit trees of all kinds pop up at random to help us make sense of the day to day events.