I broke a tooth
So I have come to the dentist.
I mime a scream while two people in masks and raincoats drill inside my mouth.
I keep my body as still as possible, knowing one jolt could send a sharp metal object whizzing into my exposed and vulnerable gums.
My entire body is clenched
Knuckles white and
Toes curled against the threat.
I try to keep my jaw as wide open as possible
And not flinch.
I am the boss of my body.
My tongue does not seem to understand this
My tongue
Does whatever the heck it wants -
It does the grand tour
While the hygienist tries to shepherd it away from the work site.
They ask me questions
I try to answer with grunts and gestures
"Ahh," they nod knowingly,
But I am fairly confident they have no idea what I'm saying.
I, too, am unsure of what I'm saying.
The drill rumbles, my head rumbles,
Until I am 8 years old
Lying in the carpeted back of a station wagon
Driving down a dirt road.
I almost fall asleep
(I am almost certainly allergic to novocaine).
The smell
In the cubic foot of air we share
Is foul.
Is it their breath or mine?
I am deeply curious
And regret that it would be rude to ask.
(It is mine. I know this.)
"You're doing great,"
The hygienist encourages.
Which is an unusual thing for one adult to say to another: why, I wonder.
The dentist has trapped my lip against my teeth with the side of his hand.
This relationship is complicated.
I will tremble and feel giddy for the rest of the day
(I am almost certainly allergic to novocaine)
Before bed I will open my mouth wide and look in the mirror
My new filling will gleam white
Next to the silver fillings of my youth.
"You're doing great," I will snicker
And go to bed and sleep
And grind my teeth.
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