The End of Childhood

They sparkled, gold rain through fingers,
chains snaking across our palms, settling
around chubby necks, rings swimming on
stunted digets as mum napped an afternoon
away. In the top drawer, a box rattled,
a delicate jingle, our excitement only forgotten
upon opening, a Pandora's box of milk white
baby teeth breaking tooth fairy beliefs in a moment.

Photo by h.koppdelaney; Poetry by Heather Taylor