I don't know if all, but most

of my teeth will be lost. Whatever the reason, no one reaches a certain age without a gap in their smile. Some people lose
their hair; I don't think that will happen to me,
because it's hereditary, I think. But I've lost
two molars, on the bottom left. My friend Hernán, who's a dentist,
pulled them out. So since February, I've acquired
the habit of touching that part of my bare gum, running my tongue over it as if I were spreading
butter. And since my mother is gone,
no one in the world cares about my teeth.

I know I won't find any money under
my pillow, or a letter, or a smile, or anything.

That's when you realize how alone
you are in the world, when no one
cares about your teeth. Your teeth can
fall out without a fuss, like trees
felled in a hidden jungle. That's how they'll fall.

It's not worth worrying about,
nor about the sun, that terrible sun, that's pressing my
tank top against my chest.