An Hour in the Dentist’s Chair

by Susanne von Rennenkampff

Sponge Bob does his thing

on the screen in the ceiling: a kid

must have sat in this chair

before me.

I can only see her eyes between

cap and mask, brown, sparkling –

she likes to talk, and by now

I know of her three kids, of

hockey practice, juggling the demands

of work and a young family.

My eyes flit back to the square

yellow figure doing its antics

above me. Annoyed at myself

I close them, listen to her voice,

quite clear through the hiss

of the machine. When I can’t answer

I hear her humming

when a song she likes

comes over the sound system.

She’s planning to walk the Camino

with her mom, a teacher

nearing retirement. Her dad, content

on their farm, has no need for

a pilgrimage. I can tell

she is fond of them both. A good daughter.

Good wife, good mom, good at

what she does.

How many people have brushed my life

like this? How many lives have I brushed

in turn? How many stories

have I listened to not needing

to keep them straight? A fellow patient

at the doctor’s office, the man behind me     

at the checkout in the supermarket, on the shuttle to the ferry.

Confidences easier told sometimes

to someone we meet in passing.

Years later something might suddenly remind us

of the woman lifting her suitcase

onto the luggage rack,

brushing a strand of hair from her face,

catching her breath, admitting

to loving Mozart and beech forests in the spring.

We might wonder if by chance

we read her poems without ever knowing

they were hers.  

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A long-time farmer and gardener, Susanne von Rennenkampff often takes her inspiration from the natural world and her travels. Her poems have appeared in a number of literary magazines in Canada and the US, including “Room”, “The Antigonish Review”, ”Prairie Fire”, “Grain”, “The Banyan Review”, “Evening Street Review” and, upcoming, “Cirque”. A chapbook of her poetry, “In the Shelter of the Poplar Grove”, was published by The Alfred Gustav Press. She lives in rural Alberta, Canada.