Root Canal as a Venetian Idyll
The exhausted dream I live in
is scattered with teeth, the little
tombstones of Freud that,
plowed under,
grow up warriors.
My son buries his
between pillow and case so no one
can exchange them for
foundling dollars—
he wants to string them together,
the miser.
The rule is you lose a tooth for every child.
The new baby grinds,
gnashes, butts
at the inexplicable ache inside—
the dog that won’t shake off.
Yet he gums prettily between howls.
So smile! repeats his jack o'lanterned brother,
as I do, falsely,
as Death does.
Copyright Credit: Terese Svoboda, "Root Canal as a Venetian Idyll" from When the Next Big War Blows Down the Valley. Copyright © 2015 by Terese Svoboda. Reprinted by permission of Anhinga Press.
Source: When the Next Big War Rolls Down the Valley (Anhinga Press, 2015)