DRAG MYSELF DOWN
I’m Pith like ‘pithy,’ like ‘succinct.’ I’m Pith like the web between the peel and the orange. I’m Pith because that’s the name my mother gave me.
My mother and I are sitting on the porch when a gray tooth falls out of my mother’s mouth. The tooth clicks down the wood and stops in the rain water collected in the warped bowl of the porch. My mother bends over, fishes her tooth out of the water and puts it back in her mouth. She’s a believer in the old shaman way of eating your fallen pieces so your soul doesn’t fracture.