Photo

My mother sent the photo through.

I sat looking. That was true—

half-open mouth, fluorescent glare,

the tired written everywhere

on my face. I couldn't leave it,

kept scrolling back to receive it,

my own face a stranger to me,

half-there. Unable to see

clearly what I looked like

to anyone else. The like

button waited. I didn't touch.

Just kept looking.

That tired mouth.

That slack jaw.

That's me to them.

That's all they see.