He didn't even wear them
for our family picture.

When the proofs came back, I learned
my father has two poses: his smile
a cavernous hole, his serious look
a cave collapsing in on itself.
My mother cried when she saw the samples.

My father remembers where his real teeth are.
When they started to fall out, one by one,
he put them in a green juice glass
on top of his night stand. They're still there,
tobacco staned yellow. Maybe he thinks one day
he'll tip his head and that cup back,
and his old teeth, his real teeth, will fall back in--
and take root.

Paula Hilton