Tuesday, February 9, 2010

St. Appolonia (patron of dentists & tooth problems)

There is a slow moan, a rumble from above

and then the sheets of snow fall past my window.

In dreams, all this white would be the remnants

of teeth, ground into powder, as light as the holes

they leave behind upon extraction. To fill a mouth

with pink, nothing sharp, to eat only ice. Wait

for it to melt. This is how to learn patience. I smile

at the world with a gaping hole so black that all

the birds are swallowed. The sun is shadowed.

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