my front teeth have been chipped so many times, I can’t even remember one specific time I can describe. when things repeat themselves, over and over, again and again, only changing slightly with each iteration, the history locked inside a clenched jaw becomes more than a simple series of events. the time blends together. pearly whites, off-whites, yellows blur from the story of a body into a myth. a bible story.
book of joseph, chapter three, verse five—
running across an open space (away or towards?)—
Tripped up feet—
(is there something to trip over?
is the air just thick?
is there a missing toe?)
teeth grinding together during a fall—
a part of a tooth is lost in the open space.
I’ve chipped my teeth so many times that I can’t even feel the divets and edges of the chips any more. my front teeth have just evened down to a rugged smoothness over time.
now, the inevitable nature of movement is the only parable my teeth can tell. the moral of the story is how easily we can forget what happens, even inside our own mouths.
@ellowrites @ellopoetry @apoem_4u