My right eye at rest stays open wider than my left one, my right eyebrow runs less close to my right ear and less close to the right side of the bridge of my nose than my left eyebrow. The top eighth of my ears point out more than a quarter of an inch away from my head at the top, though I can press my phone pretty hard against my ears against head: “What time does it end? Should I meet you there, at the gallery or pick you up... maybe there isn’t time to pick you up.” Looking in the mirror, I shave the wrong side of the back of my head, it’s already shaved where the hair isn’t long.
My wrinkled forehead, my mild acne my short hair can’t keep the greasy soot out, or it’s too much sugar. When I squint. My shave short, the same all over my head, Phillips Electronic North America. I keep all my head hair short now because I don’t like my grays. Pursing my mouth pulls terse little lines on my soft skin edging my bottom lip. My neck is thinner than I remembered.
“You’re the one they arrested who channeled funds to The Times Square Bomber! I saw you on TV!”
A child shouts, the bus as usual rattles the floor, the bathroom mirror is three segments backed in white, all of the mirror segments open. My chapstick and deodorant, my pain pills, allergy pills, my nail clipper and vitamin C tablets, three different toothpastes and four different toothbrushes, a condom, a ring of dusty green from a spent mouthwash bottle since tossed. My dental floss, pieces from a plastic anatomical model, single black hair pin, my aftershave, my watercolor brushes in a jelly jar: short handle synthetic rounds, size 0, size 2.
“He’s probably still being questioned. They were in the North East. I was born up there, but... I guess I just look like someone else.”
The hole of my left ear, my left, no my right nostril is bigger. My mustache hair grows faster than the rest, so does the hair under my jaw. My eyelashes are long and curved. I stick my jaw out, roll rotate my jaw left to right, looks like right to left in the mirror; I hear some quick little cracks. From the front, my jutting jaw makes my head look longer, my whole head weighted to the bottom. I raise my eyebrows, my wrinkled forehead. I think I look mean when I stare myself down but I will always smile at everything everyone says in public, no matter what.
- Marcus Civin
See Joan Jonas, Left Side, Right Side, 1972