‘Dentist and the Nuclear Waste Crisis’ by Charlotte Buckley

You’ve the perfect cavity for the burial
of an atomic particle. In cases like this
where the tooth has decayed and left
a hole, the hostile architecture of the molar
makes an ideal place of disposal.
While you’re laid out on the chair
it’ll only take a minute to backfill
the empty chamber with material:
radioactive pulp, a spent pool
of uranium. It’s surprisingly
well tolerated by gum tissue. Inside
the mouth it bonds, sealed not with steel
but with a berm of rock and tamped down
soil. I’ll leave a note on your file
to warn against digging. Not to worry,
it won’t be long in earth time until the trees
return. I’ve had patients who’ve grown whole
forests out of their crowns. The brilliance
of this storage system lies in communication:
your transcendental tongue ready
to relay the nature of the site, to speak
of this atomic filling. You’re being
a wonderful ancestor. Take this small mirror;
examine the surface. See how nothing looks
abnormal, yet you feel the pulsing molecule
entombed deep in the pit of the tooth.
Notice how readily the substance integrates.
How the mouth functions as normal, almost.

From issue #16: autumn/winter 2023

About the Author
Charlotte Buckley’s poetry has appeared in The Stinging Fly, Ambit, and The Rialto, among others. In 2023, she was a finalist in the Fool for Poetry international chapbook competition. Her work can be found in anthologies by Dedalus Press and the Emma Press. She lives in Dublin where she is currently pursuing a PhD.