Vayman (9)


Haibun For My Dentists

My dentist meets me cheerfully and informs
me that she has secured
some time of the great doctor who will help her to do a little
surgery in my mouth.

Ann-Marie is good at anesthesia and pretty
soon on a
chosen tooth which somehow is not mine anymore.

It is written in Talmud that hair, teeth and
nails are not part of
our bodies. It has just dawned on me that we can be alive
without them.

Now two dentists are carving a strip out of
my palate.
Suddenly one of them puts his finger in my mouth, presses hard and
starts to count 3 minutes.

On my sign language request I am given a scrap
paper and I write
with a bad pen, “I have a panic attack.”

“You’ll be OK. It is just a blood vessel,”
says a male dentist and
gives a short reiki-like laying of hands onto my shoulders.

When they put the strip back in my mouth I
ask to look at it. It is
red, almost translucent and it is really me. I amuse myself by
imagining war wounds or giving birth.

lagging I climb
ooooooooooooooooooHoly Land hill
ooooooooooooooemblazoned with poppies

Ann-Marie begs me not to bite
her finger which she uses to press
the open wound in my mouth each time counting 3 minutes. Then
they use a fish hook to sew inside mouth. The cord looks like a
piece of thin wire and it stretches high to the ceiling.