Too Old for Fairies
Another shot of Novocain or nitrous oxide would deliver a small eudemon
of relief. I want to keep my tooth, my yellow-rooted demoniac.
In my skull, I hear the sound of my molar being pulled.
I’ve gnashed my teeth too much at night, seeing demons.
The oral surgeon says, Did you notice a pop in your jaw
when your tooth cracked?. No, I threw myself down -- demonolatry.
If ever pain, joy and sigh must come again, I know this sequence.
I’ve lost a tooth after each parent died. Infected, demonized.
I have no children for whom to play Tooth Fairy. Again I wish
I had faced the contractions of childrearing demons.
If teeth represent decisions and I have lost some, will I have less
indecision or will each choice extract greater pandemonium?
No, your tooth is mine. You’re too old for fairies, Jari. My tooth plinks
into the dentist’s jar. The eternal hourglass turns. Deliver me, Demon Divine.