About 17 years ago a tooth of mine came loose, an incisor on the lower jaw and right in front of my mouth. My dentist at the time sent me to a periodontist dental surgeon who took care of my teeth for the years that followed. My tooth survived and strengthened in its socket and I was pleased.
Regular visits to my doctor and the hygienist became an important part of my annual ritual and it paid off, physically, though it was very costly. You can imagine how the cost spiralled in those 17 years!
The Pexel image and first dental image: pexels-pavel-danilyuk-6812570
And I was happy until a few weeks ago when the tooth cracked and I had to journey unhappily to my dental surgeon who had to remove it, root and all.
I am sure many of you find yourselves in similar predicaments as you grow older. We all have our dental story to tell. Some are quite happy to have their teeth worked on, others have been gifted with such attractive teeth and have a good dental health regime. Well, here are my feelings about my tooth and my dental experience in a poem that I was moved to write. (Audio below)
O tooth live forever
I hang my head in shame
for that which was important to me
is now gone from me
and I am impaired
My incisor that imaged me to the world
cracked on a carrot stick
has been scraped out from my jaw
is now a dark shallow
A Terry -Thomas smile to the world
I am embarrassed to laugh
to guffaw from the pith of my belly
That which once stood proudly in line
like soldiers at a coronation
to face off in conversation and in gatherings
that advanced gently to kiss and caress
that voiced my thoughts and words
in phrase upon phrase of praise
has become a slur
of snakelike sibilants
Dentals and plosives have collapsed
into the black hole
and fricatives wander off
like ships lost at sea
There was a time the boy was taken to a clinic
in Salt River road and sat in a glum room
with children jittering teeth
and there amongst mysterious aproned priests
the boy was gassed and slipped
into a Milky way of stars and moons
until crescendo voices in the void
called him to awaken to
eight teeth extracted
The blood streamed for days
and he, poor boy swore a vow never to return
O Tooth
Outcome of my DNA’s hazardous journey
I would go back even now
and fetch your remains bereft
to bury with ritual and lament
and decorate your tomb
with albums and images
of smiles and laughter
where happy mice run their errands
bobcommin.com 
Love the lament Father Bob. The loss of a front tooth is indeed life-changing.
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Good poem Bob, well read too. You are Ok with the fricatives, plosives and dentals though. Why, oh why, didn’t the dentist glue it together, at least?. Was he hoping to make more money?
My mother who will be 102 in three weeks times, she who took great care of her beautiful teeth, has one tooth left. I do not recommend it!
She blames covid and her dentist’s death. She didn’t like his son. Yet he was trying to make his father’s work to last at least for a month or two till the old lady died, she was only 94. The son might have retired now, or died by now.
Hauts les cœurs! Keep it up Bob, regaling us with your poems.
Brigitte
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