imperfect personification

the old dental assistant asks if i want dentures before thirty

imperfect personification
Photo by Quang Tri NGUYEN / Unsplash

by BEE LB


my mother used to tell me you carry
your weight well. the mirror  disagrees.

the toilet laughs at me when i flush it.
the bleach cries with me when i swipe  where i spilled.

the old dental assistant asks if i want dentures before thirty.
thins her lips over perfect pearls when i tell her my mother got hers at forty.

the fizz of fluoride mouthwash echoes my response.
the floss slithers across my gums, catching on a snarl.

the sizing chart implores me to add two inches to the waist
or lose three inches above.

my credit card cackles & auto applies 1% cash back
to all ill-fitting purchases. all purchases are ill-fitting purchases.

the mirror tells me, tilt your head up so your chin doesn’t double.
my lungs tell me, get better at holding your breath while sucking in.

the camera tells me to twist this way & that, no that way & this,
no this way no that way no just stop you’ll never get it right.

the filter tells me you can be beautiful if you try hard enough.
the mirror tells me  you will never try hard enough.

my fingers urge deeper as they dredge food
up my throat like the cormorant’s snare.

my throat tells me you are not so skilled as the cormorant
fisher as it burns & burns & burns.

the toilet laughs at me when i flush it.
the bleach cries with me when i swipe  where i spilled.

the new dental assistant says my daughter hates brushing
so we’ve bargained with wash

slides her fingers carefully between my lips,
sighs, oh, you must hate brushing too.

my teeth ache from my cormorant throat  eating at their enamel.
my fingertips miss vicodin for how it made them  tingle.

my mind soothes when they prescribe me norcos for pain. my ears ring with all the noise. at this point i can’t hear  anything i’ve said.


BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Revolute Lit, Roanoke Review, and After the Pause, among others. they are the 2022 winner of the Bea Gonzalez Prize for Poetry. they are a poetry reader for Capsule Stories. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co