My Face Is Nowhere

near symmetrical. I do all the math.

My husband tells me I look beautiful 

in a mask; I dye my eyes to match it.

Woman and wife are the same word in French.

I feel most free when I’m standing braless

at school drop-off under a giant coat. 

Girl and daughter are the same word in French.

I held water in my mouth for decades

to keep it from going dry if I was

ever asked to speak. I dream of chainsaws.

I cut a small incision in the neck

of a haggard, weeks-old birthday balloon,

let the air breathe itself silently out

into the world again. My air. My breath.