The Geometry of Small

I caught my reflection in the bodega freezer

and didn't know the body looking back.

Shoulders up around my ears like I was

perpetuall bracing, neck curved into itself.

Six months of hunching over a laptop

that wasn't even mine, in an office

where the air felt too thin for the space

I was taking.

My supervisor noticed first. Not with concern—

just the way you mention a loose tile

or a stain on the carpet. Are you alright?

Like my posture was a problem she had to solve.

I've learned how to make myself small.

The geometry of it now feels natural,

the way I fold into corners, the apology

I carry in my shoulders. Even walking,

even when no one's watching, my body

is still asking permission.