What I Was Doing to Myself That Year

I was looking for something else on my phone

when I found the photo—

birthday party, four years back,

someone's kitchen, overhead light

making everyone look tired.

And there I am, smiling,

the cut uneven above my left ear

like the scissors slipped

or I said shorter and meant it

in a way that had nothing to do with hair.

I'd completely forgotten that year.

Not repressed. Just filed somewhere

I don't tend to open.

The hair unlocked it: the apartment

I was renting to be near someone,

the way I kept saying I was fine

out loud to the empty rooms,

practicing it,

because if you say it enough times

in an empty room

it starts to sound true enough

to act on.

I was smiling in the photo.

I don't think I was lying.

That's the part I keep

coming back to.