Memories from 55 years ago awaken me this cold morning as I recall biting on an ice cube and chipping my eye tooth. Never gave me a problem until I ran my tongue over its worn, crooked edge. I smile remembering the love present that day, both my Grandparents admonishing me.
Now my teeth remind me of my mothers, old, lacking that meaty white look, striations line the vessels residing in the living pulp reminding me of crooked yellow lines drawn at random. I weep for my lost youth.