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Recent Work By Tupelo Hassman

teeth

Mama always hid her mouth when she laughed. Even when she spoke too gleefully, mouth stretched too wide by those happy muscles, teeth too visible. I can still recognize someone from my neighborhood by their teeth. Or lack of them. And whenever I do, I call these people family. I know immediately that I can trust them with my dog but not with the car keys and not to remember what time, exactly, they’re coming back for their kids. I know if we get into a fight and Johnny shows up we’ll agree that there has been “No problem, Officer, we’ll keep it down.”

After being introduced to Theo, a seven-foot tall wooden, dancing, and rampant pig that guards the hallway, I sat down with Tupelo Hassman in the living room of her Oakland apartment, but as I turned on the tape recorder, she jumped up.

Oh shit! Are we really going to do this?