GEORGE R. KRAMER
Your dentist, the cruel, kind one true dentist.
All-seeing in her blindness, will see you at ten o’clock.
Let her fingers feel the deep recesses,
sorting good from rot,
let her gracey curette pick inside the lip of your angry gingiva.
Let her help you find where you begin and where you end.
When the shadow of pain falls across,
let a mask seal in your breathing thoughts,
the thin nitrous oxide barrier all that divides
what is and what is not.
The x rays will miss them, but let your blind dentist see
all the forgotten truths about you.
Let your dentist not be dead.
Let her live inside, playing you in her imagination,
as you imagine her hands playing over her ivory work.
If you do not know if she lives in you,
just know that she knows nothing unknown also to you,
but she overwhelms your nothingness,
light mixing in darkness and darkness in light.
Later, let her billing office go unpaid.
The letter sits before you,
its cancelled forever stamps,
and outstanding deductible clamoring
for the emptiness of your cavity.
Let her recall how every moment is a mystery
according to her diploma above the porcelain spittoon
silently watching over you, agape and helpless,
mourning your extinct cavity,
Entering his seventh decade on this strange orb, George R. Kramer finds that the shadows of late middle age add a different depth to the world that he perceives, and tries to offer that altered perception in his recent works. His most recent published poem is in Sincerely Magazine.