The Mirrors

I caught myself in the mirror.

Third floor. Fourth floor.

The elevator rising.

I was standing at an angle.

My chin tilted.

My shoulders back.

A specific arrangement of my face

that I only make when I think no one is watching.

It's not a good arrangement.

It's not a pose I would admit to holding.

It's the version of myself

that I present to myself

when I'm alone.

The elevator kept rising.

I kept watching.

The person in the mirror kept standing

at that angle,

kept holding that tilt,

until the doors opened

and I had to step out and be

the normal version of myself again.

The version that doesn't know

how it looks when it's alone.