After the Call

The camera light went green to nothing

when I closed the laptop.

I'd been smiling for forty-five minutes.

My jaw ached—I noticed it

when the room went quiet.

The desk. The chair.

Some residue of the person

who'd been animated and collegial

still in the jaw.

I'd laughed twice during the call.

Both times real enough.

Timed, shaped, offered up

at the right moment.

Real.

I think.

I knew the cursor was blinking

behind the lid.

I didn't open it.

I sat there trying to locate

whatever was left of me

in the room.

The quiet was specific—

the kind that comes after

a performance

you didn't know you were giving.