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Home » Poetry » Issue 5 » Broken Teeth

Broken Teeth

“I can fix them,” he says
I nod, numb smile, consent
He knows I can’t afford the loss
Too few remain to play their part
Novacaine sinks deep into pink gums
Bitter taste of defeat released
The drill recedes as the seconds tick
He’s drawing flowers on my teeth
My feet relax, hands no longer tense
His weight is heavy against my cheek
It’s a kind of love, I tell myself.
My eyes are shut against the light
And then I see them walking in a line
My mother is stooped, the old one
Her mother holds her hand while she sings a song
My great grandmother is striding ahead
Head red-scarfed, fierce like a lion
Then they see me lying in the field
And he is drilling blood and teeth
They throw maize seeds which fly like wings
They settle on my face like baby doves
I feel them sliding down my cheeks
Watered by the tears that flow unchecked
They kneel around me, cradle my head
Chanting a lullaby that soothes my soul
“Tula, tula, let the seeds grow
Children need time for life to be grown
“Tula, tula”, your teeth are just green
Give them time to ripen with the summer sun
Just then the door opens
To let in the light
He steps back with a smile
Drill in hand: “I’ve fixed them now”
So maybe there’s hope for teeth to grow
To ripen like maize in a field of mothers