MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE MONITOR
The skin above my left eyelid is migrating. Where it’s headed, I’m not sure. All I can glean from the giant image of me on Zoom is: downward. Perhaps the skin is seeking rest on the pillows that have appeared below my eyes. (Hello, my wrinkly Eastern European foremothers—I see you in my face.) Day after day, for eight, nine, 17 weeks now, logging on and off and on again, waiting for coworkers to arrive in endless Zoom rooms, there I am. Staring at me. I’ve seen the droop drop, the lines etch, the chins multiply. Oh, those chins! Between meetings, I feel their weight. Even when I turn the camera off, walk away, the insecurities follow. My mind disobeys reason and wanders to them,…
