284: It's Gone

I'm not sure you realise

how large a molar really is

until it's gone. Until

there's a gaping hole where it used to be,

large enough to swallow

half a universe and more.

It's always there, a vacuum

against the edge of your tongue,

a hole in the wall

that you have tried to tend

to the best of your knowledge and abilities.

Pulling a tooth is fear.

Pulling a molar is terror.

It's squeezing your eyes shut and regretting

walking into the dentist's office

to have a piece of you

removed.

Even though that piece is broken.

Even though that piece is badly damaged.

Even though it's infected

and you know you will feel better without it.

The tug against your jaw

jerks the realisation into your mind:

THIS IS YOU

This is a piece

that has been with you since you were little,

something you have tried to treat well,

and it's a part of who you are.

You clench the blood-soaked cotton gauze

into the empty space

and stumble out into windy daylight

in a state of shock and minor horror.

It's finally gone.

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.