Working the shiny skeins of hair
into smooth golden braids down to her waist
I ask companionably whether the tooth fairy
brought anything interesting last night.
In a flat voice she says, You, you mean.

And then we are caught up in the storm
of school bound forces
as she rushes out to feed the cats 
and the others swarm in to fill the void
and the Susan B. Anthony dollar shines
in its own secret mystery under her pink flannel pillow.

All day the dollar shines behind my eyes,
the magic of it, the pink glittered wings of the fairy
who slipped it in by night,
made off with her second molar
in a purple velvet bag.

At the end of yoga class
we lie flat in the dark, savasana.
The teacher says, Experience the joy of all you have.
And the fairy flits across the dark bank 
of the moonlit river of my heart
on her way to another, younger child.