the space between my skin and my bone is where I keep my teeth.
I found my dad's old drill in the garage, growing dust like fur. it had made a home on a shelf, its neighbor a pair a rusty pliers. the drill told me to pick the pliers up and put the end into my mouth, like the barrel of a pistol with ******* on my pulse. the pliers decided to bite, teeth digging into teeth.
I was back in kindergarten, sitting in the nurse's office on a thin white sheet, trying to fit my whole hand in my mouth so I could get ahold of that tooth. nose scrunched up and eyebrows creased in effort, blood and saliva spilling out of my mouth and running down my wrist. the nurse tells me maybe it's not ready to come out, maybe I should try again later tonight. but I feel the roots coming up like an old tree after a storm; and my tongue is a worm washed up onto the pavement, bleeding from somewhere but no one really cares. I dig my grimy little kid fingernail under the bottom of my tooth, and pull like I'm at recess, playing tug of war with my gums. I unearth my treasure with a disgusting pop, and hold it up to the light for all to see. fingers and chin coated in spit and blood, the nurse hands me a paper cup to rinse my mouth. I go to the sink and watch the metallic taste of my victory swirl down the drain. the nurse gives me a little plastic treasure chest for my tooth. I tie it on a string and wear it like a trophy.
I looked down at my hands, griping the plier handles. I did not decide to play tug of war with my gums that day, but maybe I never had a choice. once again my fingers were red and my tongue was metal, but this time I was standing in the garage, air of oil instead of hand sanitizer. the pliers did not let go of my tooth, instead they yanked and twisted and my gums begged them to stop, but the pliers did not have ears. they only released once my tooth was cupped in my palm, permanently helpless like a fawn left in the road. instead of succumbing to the reality of what I had done, I listened to the drill when it told me to put the pliers back in my mouth. like traffic lights l repeated the same motions. tug of war with rusty pliers, restless hearts know no peace. cracked molars spit out onto the floor, mind dizzy with static from the pain. my eyes were never truly open until all my teeth were laid out on the ground in front of me. idle hands are the devil's playground, but these pliers were the devil's hands, not mine. cheeks swollen and gums bruised beyond repair, I thought that was where it ended; laid to rest on the garage floor, stained rag for a wreath.
but the drill spoke to me again, this time it wanted me to gather up my teeth and bring them to it. it wanted me to hold it, red palm print on the handle. it told me to drill holes through my teeth. the whine of the bit spinning in enamel reminded me of a baby's cry, innocent eyes unable to comprehend the scene laid out before them.
I went to the closet and grabbed your favorite t shirt. I cut it up and spun it into string. the drill told me how to thread it through each tooth, like a string of christmas lights. my hands did the devil's work while my eyes watched. I dug through the drawer and found a needle. attached to the end of the string of teeth, I pushed it into my skin, and pulled it back out the other side. like traffic lights I repeated the motions. if only the lights had stayed red. I sewed my christmas lights into my skin.
the space between my skin and my bone is where I keep my teeth. touch me and you will be bit, by pliers or by lights. my gums are pudding in my mouth, but my teeth are armor in my skin.
sitting on the red garage floor,
I realize the devil can do no harm.