dentistry

I was going to throw away the water

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I was going to throw away the water
bottle then the river spoke: DO NOT
SPIT GUM INTO THE URINALS.
I was transformed. Red bumps rose
along the collar of my hand and I
scratched until boredom overtook
the revelation, the epiphany being
waste is measured in days I do
what I don’t want to be doing.
Rise with me past the prehistoric
era. I’ve chewed on ash rocks
for eternity. Dentistry
has not been kind. The drills
are getting longer, the routines
blurrier, my eyesight already
a ten twenty or whatever
the technical term for
poor, as in destitute,
as in the cursive graffiti
on the side of a brick
house on the road I live on,
the one-word message
sprawled in yellow
teeth I see every time
I smile widely
in a mirror,
any time I disappear
into a ripple.

(originally published in Unlikely Stories Mark V, Winter 2023)

Dead Whale

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

Upon the gum’s shore,
a body beaches–
abscessed tooth of
sand.

How the mouth learns
to chew
diamonds–
the glint
of blood.

Soon, this is ritual.

Don’t confess
your ailing–
let bleed from morning
into next.

The dentist says
don’t drink– so
consume the ocean
of the night
and float
yourself to sea.

 

(originally published in former People, Winter 2018)

Root Canal

/ James Croal Jackson / Leave a comment

I.

the overhead light is a python shining into my eyes
this office is hissing: drills, rotors, a hanging
S at the end of a passing sentence.
they have taken so many x-rays
of my mouth these past few weeks

there the infected tooth stares back
in its gray and black graveyard,
deep in its flaw

II.

the doctor numbs me with needle
puts a cloth in my mouth, a cape
to make my face a superhero.
it’s an uncomfortable placebo
makes me think of super-strength
defense as she scythes the pulp out of me

III.

the doctor says god,
this is a pulp boulder

I have been looking toward heaven
digging and scraping many silent minutes

IV.

a drill

bats squeal and fly from the cave of my tooth

V.

the assistant tag-team switches for
a different assistant

the doctor says we’re finally getting somewhere

on the radio:
♪ like a virgin. touched for the very first time ♪

VI.

the scent of bone

or blood

or gum

or healing

VII.

the assistant says she visited the chickens last week
cute as dickens

I learn chickens have no bladders
and no bone marrow

and here I hold my urine

VIII.

the doctor tells me open wide
shoving cotton in my mouth

♪ shout, shout, let it all out ♪

IX.

they’re trying to figure out the actress in Breakfast at Tiffany’s
the doctor holds a scalpel over my mouth
the name at the tip of her tongue

After an eternity I offer
Hahdrey Hehurn

I did my part

they’re proud
and there are no complications

 

(originally published in Off the Coast, Fall 2017)