Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It’s all

over: she’ll learn some words, she’ll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,

your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It’s dusk. Your daughter’s tall.

Analysis, meaning and summary of Thomas Lux's poem A Little Tooth

2 Comments

  1. dorothy staller says:

    as a 73 year old grandmother I read this poem on a New York City bus. It so moved me that, lacking paper and pencil, I memorized it. I loved ” your feet are sore” but the last line really hit hard. dds

  2. Ray says:

    So simple a poem, and yet profoundly true and touching. I felt the sadness, being a father of a growings teenage daughter, and realizing, yes she is taller, and I am older, and I must let her go. Thank you Thomas Lux.

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