What nobody tells you about fillings is they crack.
Even if you brush in perfect little circles, avoid sugar
before bed, it will happen. Gurgle warm salt
water, rub your gums with clove oil, Google chimes
in with advice. On the way to the dentist, school bells
ringing all the way. Jammed in a minivan traffic legacy.
Bad teeth run in your family, a dental legacy
to match the psychological. Orthodontia and minds crack
similarly. The surprise of biting a metal fork. Bells
and whistles. A melody of sirens. Too much sugar.
At least you have a Twinkie defense. Ding Dongs chime
in the key of Is It Over? You taste dimes and salt.
Your sister got veneers because the Smiths didn’t salt
their driveway. It was veneers or a legacy
of broken bonds. Your mom was so quick to chime
in her support. The gilded guilt about to crack
her wide open. You remember snow like sugar
dust across the ice. The radio playing Jingle Bells.
In your house, the cats have no bells.
You learned to pry them off with pliers. No salt
on Mom’s popcorn. No cinnamon. Just sugar
in the cookies. A never-ending legacy
of how she likes things. Dad’s on crack
and one of the damn neighbors got a windchime.
You buy a special alarm clock. No chimes,
buzzers, beeps, or banging church bells.
You wake up to ocean waves because crack
isn’t the joke it used to be. You still cut salt
like coke at Cici’s Pizza, laugh loud like your legacy
depends on it. Your teeth start to dissolve like sugar.
Fourteen years old, the dentist says Less sugar
and Do you make yourself throw up? Two chimes
to his office. Five to the shrinks. Adolescence a legacy
whispered in elevator shafts. Mute the alarm bells
as you slip past statistics. Please hold the salt.
Hold yourself still. Plummet through every crack.
Grind your teeth to sugar. Hollow as bells
inside, they chime a song of cuts and salt.
A teenage tragedy, a legacy, of all the ways to crack.
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