This is for the gums that wailed & wept into gauze. For the naked
enamel exposed after decades of my wisdom teeth decaying.
For the roots yanked out in less time than it took to soothe
my nerves with the chorus of my favorite song.
This is for the tooth that splintered
after the Alka-Seltzer chewable incident of 2022.
For the tooth my tongue coaxed
apart the year before–how it did not stop until break.
For the tooth I went to the dentist to save
only to leave it on the metal tray of betrayal.
With all the blood rushing to my head & fluorescent
bulbs louder than the cackle of the greedy drill, I give my thanks.
you were a good tooth I say, I’m sorry I failed you.
Then the hygienist tells me to close my mouth, she vacuums
my tongue, sucking away the debris.
The trade-in for my teeth is always a plastic bag
filled with a branded ink pen, mug, and an ice pack to ease the swell of regret.
The Dentist calls my mouth a wildfire; when I get home
I look up what causes them and my eyes blaze against the words
act of negligence
My mouth is a goddamn wildfire.
This is for its scorched tongue. Bruised jaw.
The way the pain pills slid down my throat
like they were familiar with the place.
For my Mother, who wore dentures all the years that I knew her.
My Aunt, who has the same J13 tooth missing in her smile as me.
Grandma, and her gold tooth inheritance.
For the Tooth, that the Dentist warned was hanging by a thread eight months ago.
Every day I give my thanks it’s still here,
I’m sorry I failed you. I say, You are a good tooth.