Diastema

Diastema
or
The Gap: An autobiographical poem about Teeth, Beauty, and Self-acceptance.

This is a poem about how for years I smiled only with my mouth shut,
particularly in pictures,
and how I once confided to a friend
that sometimes I imagined that strangers thought I was pretty
until I opened my mouth to speak
and the gap was revealed.

This is about how I begged my parents for braces,
Because didn’t they know that where there was The Gap,
there was supposed to be sparkling white enamel:
the perfect smile that would bring happiness?
And if not happiness,
at the very least, Beauty,
which might  as well be the same thing.

This is about the first time someone told me that my gap was sexy.
And how I rolled my eyes and mentally
made an addition to my list of Stupid Things Men Will Say.

This is a poem about an artist I met in Central Park
who told me that The Gap was a sign of good luck
and when he asked if I was lucky
I said yes.

And the time that I read in a book about an African tribe
that believes that a space between your two front teeth
means that you are wise.
Because it is through this space, that the wisdom of your ancestors
can enter your mouth, your lungs.

This is also a poem about my fifteen year old cousin
who stayed with us one summer,
and who told me that her dream, for when she finally had the money
was to get a nose job.

And about how in response,
I pulled all my books on feminism off the shelf
and I lectured her on self-confidence
and told her about Chinese women with bound feet,
and Kenyan women who wear rings around their necks to lengthen them.
And then I took her to the Met
and showed her all the statues with her same Italian nose
and talked about the changing ideals of beauty.
And how somewhere in the mists of this campaign
she asked how fixing her nose was so different from me fixing my teeth.

This is also about the six months I spent living in a village in rural India,
and what the money to finally get rid of The Gap
would mean to someone who lives on thirty rupees a day.

And how once while I was there,
I was buying flowers from an ancient gap-toothed woman
when she suddenly kissed me on both checks
and blessed me by cracking her knuckles against my temples.
And when I turned to my friend and translator, confused,
she shrugged, and said, “I think she likes your teeth.”

And finally, this poem is about how when I got back,
I got a job working in a restaurant
and when a customer complimented me on my diastema
(dia-what?)
I suddenly had a new name, for my new attitude towards,
The space between my teeth.