There were moments when your lopsided smile
Turned down and I saw that the moment I met you.
We were maybe two feet away and staring
And I don’t know how long that was-
Maybe 45 milliseconds or so-
And I don’t know how you saw me,
But I knew my hair was really messy and
I wasn’t quite what I wanted you to see.
Everyone whispered to me as if you were meant to be
Some sort of “grand awakening”,
Some sort of peeling off of my skin or
A shower of hot water running through my hair
And down onto my toes,
A series of seconds of nothing but blue-brown meshing eye collision
And you reached out your hand for me to touch and
When you smiled I saw more than slightly crooked teeth and
I forgot to tell you my name, and you laughed.
Prompted from the book 642 Things to Write About by The San Francisco Writers’ Grotto.