I never glided a blade across skin
  but instead inflicted harm in my sleep.
  Always grindin’ from 9-5 and in leisure time
because father trained me to,
and I followed suit obediently.

 Odd. An anomaly,  
remarked the dentist 

when evaluating my destruction of
a custom mouth guard device.
Unheard of, in such a short time.

Only once,  
  a TMJ patient fully recovered  
    upon moving to Hawaii.  
      Killing her jaw clench by  
    retiring in sunshine.  

 Father had once warned me I would die  
of a heart attack from stress 
before the age of 30.
So I never pictured a husband,
a wife, or children.

But en route to tropical paradise,  
  he ignored a right abdomen ache;  
    appendix bursting on the plane.  
      He continued snorkeling as usual,  
        while damage swam across organs  
      and he answered business calls on the sand.  

    He boarded the return flight on time,  
  but true slumber was delayed until opening the front door home;  
Offered a sabbatical by the grim reaper. 
He swiped his room key into
a month’s check-in
at the coma hotel.

I abandoned aloha  
  once and for all at 19,  
    as I confronted adulthood  
      and uncovered secrets lost,  
    washed up along the shore.  

  The ambitious grind  
will always remain 
part of my pre-programmed DNA,
but never again
on vacation.

Instead, I ritually devote words  
  to the page, to take the edge off,  
    and perhaps one day to  
      release enough tense proclivities to  
    rest in my dreams & keep my dentist pleased.

---

Arianna Cooper is a Brooklyn-based, LA-raised writer. She draws parallels, finds humor in the mundane, admires the complexity of everyday intimacy, and is grounded by joy amidst chaos.