An Observation from 300 Hours on Zoom

Faces fixed in separate

boxes, lips stiff,

eyes flat with fatigue,

I am so often smiling.

­

Is it flippant, this smile, brightened

by sunshine from my ocean-facing window,

reflected in the eyes of my forever partner,

while the great pandemic of 2020

­

tightens the visage of the lonely,

exposed, homeless? Or do I assume

my mother’s smile, smoothing

a safe veneer over rough grain?

­

Duchenne, the French scientist,

could tell the difference, two muscles

vital to a genuine smile

are only triggered by joy.

­

The liquid warmth of my smile 

travels down my lungs and heart, 

the upward curl of lips begins

a self-embrace, satisfies a hunger

­

to hold moments closely—my smile a cradle

for rocking love into memory,

where everything touches everything 

and nothing is boxed in.