from Moraine

The dentist shows me photographs
of my teeth, their vintage fillings
glisten like mountain lakes,
their alpine peaks ground down
from years of carrots, nuts,
popcorn kernels. He shows me
fissures in the rocks, places
where the silver has turned
into wedges that threaten
to split my molars into shards.
It’s all happening now:
my knees buckle as I’m walking,
my uterus is tired, my feet deformed,
my nails have taken in fungi
my mind is heavy with memories
and opinions it has picked up
along the way like a glacier
acquires rock debris.