A Collection of Baby Teeth
Helena Pantsis
some of my best friends are teeth / I’ve known them all my life / from before / they were clipped by pinched fingers / and yanked / by knotted string / if you cut them through the centre / to see inside the bone / of each molar / you will marvel at their rings / the thin lines of circling marrow at their core / and enamel holding shape / which in their magnanimous spiralling / count the number of worms living inside my brain / tracking this home’s decline / slowly / progressively / before each tusked death / ungummed skulls undressed of their bodies all the while / decapitated / bled and sedated / like marbles / or raw navy beans / my teeth know when to stop / drop / roll / when to chatter / when to shake / lost and pillow-bound / marking the path I walk / and guiding me home / I wear them ‘round my neck / on a withered piece of twine / you can hear them / clicking / whenever I turn a corner / smacking against my chest / against clavicle / and sternum / leaving bite marks where they swing / stained yellow / some of my teeth / I barely knew I had / until they haemorrhaged on my tongue / these parts of me / unchanged by time / not like / the canals carved in the tissue of my mind / which changed the course / devouring plans / becoming parts and memories / still / some teeth remember me wholly / before the ill embedded / my baby brain / my dime-sized tongue / limbs all too small to be of any use / great stretches of fresh grass / a pasture ungrazed / before the cells died off and regenerated / into something flawed / and new / they know what I mean / before I explain it / my teeth / old friends / replaced by imposters in my mouth / their discrete count / so simple / designed to live so briefly and rot in pieces / some of them / my greatest friends / I’d know them anywhere / I’d love them anyhow / I’d recognise them / by their rings / and their newborn cry / yet to look at me / to gnaw at my very flesh and carve their footprints into my bones / in spite of everything we’ve been through / and the horrors we have seen / for everything we were and are / I fear they would not know me / the same
HELENA PANTSIS (she/they) is an editor, writer and artist from Naarm, Australia with a fond appreciation for the weird, the dark, and the experimental. Her debut short story collection, ‘GLUTT’, is forthcoming with Grattan Street Press. More can be found at hlnpnts.com
