The Grinding, Or, Just Holding On

The floss, it snaps.

That clean, sharp mint,

and then the tiny shift.

Just there, in the back, the molar.

It's been fine. They said so.

But this new thing, this almost-not-a-thing,

a tremor, deep in the bone.

Like something's giving way.

I poke with my tongue.

Careful. Too careful.

It's solid, mostly. I think.

But the feeling, this small, quiet dread,

it clings.

How much pressure can they take?

All the grinding, the holding on,

every clench, every stressed-out night.

What if it just… gives?

Just a tiny crack.

And then what? I don't know.

Just the ache, waiting to begin.