The Gap

The novocaine wore off an hour ago.

Now there’s a hole where the molar used to hide.

My tongue keeps exploring, moving quite slow

to the raw, tender space on the side.

The gum is a ridge of a strange, spongy red,

a landscape that’s missing its peak.

I look in the mirror, the light on my head,

and see the slight sink in my cheek.

It’s an absence I didn't give leave to occur,

a subtraction of bone from the jaw.

The memory of biting is starting to blur

into this new, aching law.