My Dentist Detects Occlusal Loss

In the x-ray I’m diaphanous

undone from flesh:

spectral record

of root and bone

enamel I can’t keep
from wearing
wish-thin.

He asks how often I wake
to aching.

I answer with teeth
that pestle their lacquer

with tongue that slicks back
the dust while I sleep.

Not an ache — it’s more
of a threading lament.

Still, teeth stay

after fire under dirt
pearled palmful in my sock drawer.
Little milk teeth unthreaded
with tender lament.

Oh, I’m tender
toward relics —

the dentist’s long-gone
lightbox and its bloomed panes
of film. The once-dim made discernible
in the open glow.

Now I tell myself
what I would say to my boys.

It will only sting a little.
You can be so brave. Just think
of how your teeth will shine.

When the chair cants toward level
my body follows. I let it.

I set my jaw soft
third time I’m asked.