The Dentist
When I was twelve years old I lost a molar.Our diet was poor, way too much sugar,And when it decayed I could no longer eat. Do you ever stop to think about your teeth?I don’t mean how white they are or how straight.I mean do you think about what they are?
Start with phosphorous, as we know nature does,“Phos-phor,” Greek “light-bearer”—no light, no life—And you arrive at a real jaw-breaker:
Hydroxyapatite—a hard word, right?Not as hard as the enamel it makesOr the bones that hold you up, each one alive.
You get it now, don’t you? You begin to feelEarth’s mineral making life possible—What light would you shine if you couldn’t eat or run?
Some teeth are so hard they can crush other teeth,Hyena’s or crocodile’s, bone-eaters,Or just watch your pup work on an antler.
In your mouth evolution scored a hitThree hundred eighty million years ago, odd,And you are alive because you can bite.
Oral savagery is the technical nameFor the early stage of development,Or ask any mother whose infant bit her.
Henry finally got his cousin to drive usDeep into Colored Town where white folks don’t go,Where most of the houses, to call them that,
Lurched on the bricks that held them off the ground,And the people, they just stared. I was afraid,But the dentist was kind, with a giant smile,
Soft-spoken, easy-going, and smelled so good.He numbed my mouth and pulled my tooth—like that!— And I was thankful the pain would finally stop. I still see, as we were leaving his house,Henry giving him that twenty-dollar bill,Those days nearly half of his take-home wage.
The look on his face as he parted with itBroke my heart, old enough to understand.But I remember most the dentist’s face
When he took the money from my father’s hand.I could tell he knew how hard it must be,Harder than pulling hydroxyapatite,
For a white man to come to Colored TownFor help he couldn’t afford anywhere elseAnd part with money the dentist had earned.
When I was twelve years old I lost a molar.Our diet was poor, way too much sugar,And when it decayed I could no longer eat. Do you ever stop to think about your teeth?I don’t mean how white they are or how straight.I mean do you think about what they are?
Start with phosphorous, as we know nature does,“Phos-phor,” Greek “light-bearer”—no light, no life—And you arrive at a real jaw-breaker:
Hydroxyapatite—a hard word, right?Not as hard as the enamel it makesOr the bones that hold you up, each one alive.
You get it now, don’t you? You begin to feelEarth’s mineral making life possible—What light would you shine if you couldn’t eat or run?
Some teeth are so hard they can crush other teeth,Hyena’s or crocodile’s, bone-eaters,Or just watch your pup work on an antler.
In your mouth evolution scored a hitThree hundred eighty million years ago, odd,And you are alive because you can bite.
Oral savagery is the technical nameFor the early stage of development,Or ask any mother whose infant bit her.
Henry finally got his cousin to drive usDeep into Colored Town where white folks don’t go,Where most of the houses, to call them that,
Lurched on the bricks that held them off the ground,And the people, they just stared. I was afraid,But the dentist was kind, with a giant smile,
Soft-spoken, easy-going, and smelled so good.He numbed my mouth and pulled my tooth—like that!— And I was thankful the pain would finally stop. I still see, as we were leaving his house,Henry giving him that twenty-dollar bill,Those days nearly half of his take-home wage.
The look on his face as he parted with itBroke my heart, old enough to understand.But I remember most the dentist’s face
When he took the money from my father’s hand.I could tell he knew how hard it must be,Harder than pulling hydroxyapatite,
For a white man to come to Colored TownFor help he couldn’t afford anywhere elseAnd part with money the dentist had earned.
