My Dentist<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My dentist has hair
\nthe color of lint,
\nstubble (at least
\non the days I see him)
\nand wrinkles around his ears.<\/p>\n
He leans back (too far I think),
\nelbows stiff
\nlike a child
\nholding his first sparkler,
\nthoughts in Missouri perhaps
\nor lost in last night\u2019s bouillabaisse.<\/p>\n
Come closer, I murmur,
\nbut my mouth is a steel bouquet,
\nmy tongue corralled in rubber.
\nThe hurts of this life
\n(and maybe one or two more)
\nhuddle with me on the long green chair,
\na boatful of refugees
\ndrifting toward pain.<\/p>\n
Come closer, dear dentist.
\nLook past the cracked crown
\nand yellow decay,
\nthe rumpled gums and downy chin,
\ngaze deep into the basement of my fear,
\nthe pilot light that keeps
\nthe whole house warm,
\nand tell me without solace
\nwhat you see.<\/p>\n
Put aside your drill, lower your mask.
\nThe smell of burning bone is everywhere.
\nThis is as close as we ever get.
\nLean closer,
\ncloser
\nstill.<\/p>\n
Leigh Hancock<\/a> has been writing poems for most of her life.\u00a0 She has an MFA in writing from the Universityof Virginia, where she was a Henry Hoyns Fellow.\u00a0 She has also received fellowships from the Wurlitzer Foundation, Hedge brook Via Montalvo and Fishtrap.\u00a0 Her work has been published in several anthologies and magazines including Calyx,<\/a> Mothering <\/a><\/em>and Sundog. <\/em>\u00a0She lives lives in White Salmon along the Columbia Gorge with her husband, son and border collie.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My Dentist My dentist has hair the color of lint, stubble (at least on the days I see him) and wrinkles around his ears. He leans back (too far I think), elbows stiff like a child holding his first … Continue reading