the dentist in the other room & everything you ever wanted 

there's a pair of mauve rubber gloves 
rooting in the mouth for a golden fork
between teeth. the dentist with his own mouth 
concealed by a mask paces between rooms--
tapping the walls with a single finger 
telling the house to open wider 
wider wider. he actually doesn't have
a mouth beneath his mask-- just lips
painted on with nail polish. he's far away now
on a different moon than ours & the light
he breathes comes from a shut down star.
do you believe in purple? in lavender 
& all its freckles? do you hear the sound
of teeth on the window outside? they're all
made of ice. the fork is going to be used 
to eat everything you could never have
when you were little. there will be plate
after plate of pale gold tasty cakes 
& eclairs sweating in the heat of
your wanting. the fork has fingers for
dipping-- a torso dug deeper into each bite
a neck for sugar. gloves asking you
if you remember where you last 
used your mouth & you censoring the answer 
because you have a feeling your mother
is closer by than you think
because the ears of parents are in
full bloom like fungus all along 
the staircase. the finger-tapping
of the dentist chimes from way off
in a different landscape. you'r on a train 
or maybe not. the gloves try harder
ask you to turn over on your side 
& remember who fed you. a whole cat
climbing into your mouth to put back
your tongue. a whole raccoon scavenging 
in between molars for a glint of glitter
to feel beautiful. what kind of men wear
mauve gloves? what kind of gloves
smell this loud & purple? you wanted 
saving. you wanted a beautiful clean surface
to start over on. you close your eyes 
& you know you lost the fork yourself 
a very long time ago but it's easy 
to not admit these things--
it's easy to ask for help with 
something impossible to recover. 
somewhere the fork is running her fingers
through someone else's hair-- is putting 
them to sleep past their bed time
is letting them eat whatever they want.