Before

The wedding ring caught light—his ring—

and I knew exactly what mine says.

Went home. Stood in the mirror. That thing

about the grip, the pressure, the ways

it reveals you before you speak.

Started practicing. Right hand. Left.

Two seconds, not more. The technique

is holding on without holding—that's the gift.

His fingers were completely dry.

Mine were already damp in the mirror light.

A week until the interview. I

practice every morning. Grip tight.

Not too tight. The woman across the table

will read me in the time the handshake takes.

Will know if I'm steady or unstable

before my mouth moves. Before it breaks.

How to hide the sweat. How to hold

without being held. How to make this hand

feel like something finished, something sold,

something understood. Something planned.

The grip matters. The duration. The warmth.

Two seconds that contain everything.

I'm still in the bathroom, practicing form,

trying to sound like a person who knows a thing.