I. Sugar Discipline
Long-Lined Sonnet For Dr.
Young
At the end of my benefits my mouth holds a temporary crown. Along the Naugahyde arms of the tilted-back chair, my arms are smooth and thickthe skin of an endangered African animal. My iPod holds a slight density against the swell of bare belly, cold beneath my T-shirt. One earphone is in, Eliot speaks with the voice of the poetSt. Louis faking Queens Englishover the buzzing insistence of the drill, latex fingers pulling at my swollen, etherized gums:
these were the bones that were his eyes? The hygienist, middle-aged, Mexican, comments on the plasma screen the one hockey game I went to was Queen Elizabeth in her red dress, dropping thewhat do you call the rubber disk?onto the ice. Dr.
Young, twenty-four and carving, ignores her. Beneath her breath she remarks that beneath amalgams there is almost always decay. Shaved calcium, dental cement, in my raised chair: I am enthroned.
Reasons You Love The Dentist
Your mouth straightjacketed you can finally stop talking. You will be rewarded with paste and waxed paper for keeping still. The drill is white noise: you creatively attend to silence.
A rush of water squirted into the lower bowl of your mouth reassures you: you wont ever be thirsty. In the late 1980S , Dr. Killick patiently explained his sterilization techniques to your eight-year-old sister so she wouldnt fear contracting AIDS. The chair is a classroom: you are privy to a new discourse, new words, old words reformed. You are the centre of attention. There are minerals in your mouth that you have never even considered.
Soon your swollen lips will thaw. Your gums will resurrect and your tongue will explore Dr. Youngs architecture. Now this hygienist whose Christian name youve forgotten acts as a pushy yoga instructor, forcing you to focus on breathing: through your nose, through your nose. You grind your teeth, a war vet digs holes in your molars, carves crevices at the back of your incisors. Yet Dr.
Mouth. | Guard. |
Molded to | the specifics of |
your reconstructed | mouth, |
translucent, a | ghost of |
molar | allowed for, |
hypothetical | mass of porcelain; |
future | implant or |
bridge. | Clasp it |
over the | half-moon, |
bottom | teeth. |
Cripple your sibilants. Go to bed.
II.
Erase everything you have written, but keep the notes in the margins. Osip Mandelstam
The Committee Meeting
Jet-lagged, you say to the Doctors who have gathered before you:
Whenever I stand to presenta paper I feel like a charlatan. Your Swedish Doctor (associate) bald with ginger stubble, responds:
I am afraid this noun is not partof my English vocabulary. Pop quiz: How many synonyms can you think up in the next twenty seconds? You say:
a faker. Suddenly there is scholarly consensus. Your American Doctor (assistant) clean-shaven with a Tyrolean chin and the faint scent of a near-forgotten stint at a Jerusalem Bible College, says:
There was a recent article aboutthispeer reviewedin the Journal of Higher Education:
80% of academics feel the same way. Your Head Doctor, the white-haired nun, is outnumbered. Smiles ensue and satisfy. Its never scholarship until statistics are involved. (Or is it BBA from Jerusalem Bible College and MTS from Ivy State? The chronology on the CV isnt clear). (Or is it BBA from Jerusalem Bible College and MTS from Ivy State? The chronology on the CV isnt clear).
Three times in one hour he says, Thats the best question Ive heard all day. One time he even says it to you. His attention is focused on uncovering the Semitic antecedents of the past participle used in the Beatitudes. He has proven that Syriac manuscripts found in caves circling the Dead Sea convey the word blessed as linguistically identical to the word lucky. There are blue silk patches adhering to his elbows. He could have done anything with his life. He could have managed a furniture warehouse in Michigan; pastored a predestined congregation of fourth generation Dutch immigrants; he could have been the Governor of California but he chose to venture north to this Instro-University town to read Hebrew with you in the basement seminar room, with the reproduction of Raphaels Madonna and Child above the white ornamental fireplace. Blessings be.
You are so lucky.
Footnotes To The Associate Professor
He encourages He manages to be simultaneously bald, a redhead, and sexy. Post-Enlightenment, Postmodern: He digs through the bones of Galilean synagogues. His doctoral students always put male names in their dissertation titles. His Scandinavian children are all blonde. They are Church of Sweden agnostics.
They sing Christmas hymns to the last surviving Swedish saint.
On your campus tour he shakes your hand the way you always thought a man should shake a womans hand: firm, yet gentle, with the recognition of a mattered presence. He laughs knowingly when you say,
Jesus must clearly havebeen ginger. He writes your voice on the chalkboard in the main seminar room, the one that isnt in the basement, the one displayed to guests, to prospectives. You dont remember what you said, but perhaps it was something about the elusive Messiah, about methods of excavating a parable. You only recall his slender yet masculine hand tracing white letters on the smooth, fecund green. 3 Once he is talking about whether to use the 3rd person, the Royal We or the I in scholarship, and as he says subsequently as sub-SEE-quently, you immediately begin to compose a letter to the OED to amend their pronunciation guide.
One of his research interests is Identity Formation. When they tear you apart for using the words