deepundergroundpoetry.com
All the tattered threads
I’m wide open
in a dentist’s chair
listening to words like
plaque and dental cement
how I’ve got good teeth
for my age, and I note
it’s not the same
for my folks.
I’ve a jagged edge
on a wisdom tooth
sheered right off one day
crunching on a sherbet
in the car
stabbed me in the cheek
for two weeks while I waited
to get the damn thing
filed and filled.
I think of how easy it is
to fill in the cracks
of the body
how all of me is mended
with pills and plaster
because
that’s what humans do
fix it
until the fixing wears away
then re-dress exposed rust
as if it’s the wing of a car
you’ve patched for so long
can you remember what it’s like
to be vulnerable
to be seen
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