October 2, 20203. À La Recherche du Temps Perdu
Each night as I floss my teeth, I feel a pull in opposite
directions. Generally, I hope my diligence has left only
the remnants of my most recently consumed meal, but
if, perhaps, I have missed something from breakfast,
a whole flax seed, a morsel of raspberry, and this has
begun to decay in the crevasses along the gum line of
my aging teeth, I might catch a tiny taste of the
gingivitis-breath my long-dead mother would sometimes
sigh into the side of my face when she hugged me good
night, and, inevitably, in this case, I must lean against the
sink slightly as a wave of sweet grief crashes through me.
Photo by Jennifer Sheridan
from #68 - Summer 2020