I’m looking for the passport in the box

I’m looking for the passport in the box

under the tax returns and the spare keys.

I find the license from the year

I was trying to please everyone at once.

The fluorescent light hits my forehead hard,

making it shine like a wet countertop.

My eyes are pinched, two small dark holes

retreating into a face I barely recognize.

I remember the smell of the DMV,

the damp coats and the floor wax.

I was holding my breath in the chair,

waiting for the flash to tell me

who I was supposed to be.