Abstract
Most families picked a photo with a smile
to mark the day. Some show infants who lived
long enough to share a wide-mouthed grin.
Others show children in their dress-up clothes,
no illnesses apparent as they play.
Ages and hairstyles differ, from the brash
confidence of toddlers to a 12-year-old's
shy awkwardness. My heart goes out to every
teen whose smile reveals a row of hardware:
brackets and wires cemented to the teeth.
I remember sore gums in the morning,
forbidden foods to navigate, and a few
unfortunate weeks forced to endure
protruding bars. An all too common rite of passage
topping the torment of those turbulent years.
Now kids no longer sport full-metal bands.
One boy's are clear. Does he wish they'd disappear?
One grin shows blue and yellow rubber bands.
Her school colors or to match up with a friend?
I remember the next girl who flaunted
her hairlessness with pride but grieved
when her braces were removed for MRI.
She was straightening teeth for hope, her proof
she had a future. The monthly orthodontist
trips a requiem for normal days.
Like when the two rails of a track run side
by side so far ahead, it's difficult
to see the distant point where they converge.
Where do they end? No one who climbs aboard
the train still tries to ask that question.
