Drowned and undocumented, you’ll be known
by your teeth, the mouth-map your dentist charted
with mirror and pick, a speleologist
noting unique formations: buccal, occlusal, the gap
where he mined a deep-embedded wisdom tooth.
Perhaps the plaster cast he took
smiles in a dental cabinet, a note nearby
of the exact shade of caffeine-white
chosen for your porcelain incisor.
They’ll date you by your ancient fillings,
ravages of sweets off ration
transformed to artwork in amalgam
individual as the scrimshaw sported
by jaws of tribesmen tombed in glass cases –
as yours may be in some far future
for visitors to marvel at and shudder
their own set perfectly even, perfectly blank.
A C Clarke lives in Glasgow. She was one of 17 poets commissioned for the Mirrorball Commonwealth Poetry Anthology, The Laws of the Game, last year and was longlisted for this year’s National Poetry Competition. Her fourth collection, In The Margin, is due out from Cinnamon Press in November.