The Adjustment

I pull my face tight at the temples,

the way I do before

the conference room door.

The fluorescent strips hum

and the steel doors catch me mid-shift—

mouth moving from loose to

professional, cheekbones lifted

like I'm reaching for approval

that hasn't asked for me yet.

I hold it. The smile feels

like a wire fence I've learned to smile through.

Then the doors open

and someone steps in

and I'm caught halfway,

the real one and the one I've been assembling,

and neither of us knows which

is which anymore.