Curious, my tongue roamed along my jaw
to the source of the pain in my gums -
an abcessed tooth, a rot that occured
from bile rushing over the bone.
It started with a break that was strangely
painless
and I spat, disbelieving, into my palm
a small white pearl with a jagged edge.
Soon, the piece that was left in my mouth
was as smooth as a pebbled turned over and
over again beneath some great sea.
Hollow as a seashell,
the tip of my tongue fit neatly inside.
It was the bile that did it, you see,
that hate rising up from my stomach.
But I couldn't keep going forever
and an infection began to grow.
My hands, as scaled as some dead thing
could no longer fit down my throat.
The tides ebb and flow.
I wait for my appointment.
When I show up with a post-dated cheque, they
turn me away.
'But I could die," I said.
A rage filled my veins like a tidal wave.
I will rip this tooth out of my head.
I walk home thinking about pliers.
I fantasize about guillotines.
I even research how to make one
but of course I do none of that.
I come back with cash. The waves settle.
They prescribe this and that
and when the infection's died down, I come back.
They invade my mouth. A sort of storm,
and the tooth comes out.
As I heal, I do not smoke or throw up.
I nearly go out of my mind.
I kept the tooth.
They had to break it into five pieces
to get it out of my mouth -
a worn sort of ivory. The pieces look dry.
My tidal pool is now missing a stone,
smooth space between two rocks,
small scar.
I throw up gently.
I feel the tides returning.
