Smile
I wonder what the alarm says about my bones today.
I step out of Maple View Way Estate,
head to the gym.
An old white woman waves at me. I wave back, smile.
Her dogs bark at me. Such confusion.
I practice my smile. I do it well.
Once, a girl said, you look better when you smile. I do?
My lover, in bed last night, told me, you have such a nice smile.
I flirt more in my dreams. I have good courage there.
I smile better there. I carry a dove in my pocket there.
I wonder what the alarm says about the lines on my palms.
Across the street, I see my neighbor wave at me. I smile, wave back.
I practice my smile. I wonder how beautiful I look to him.
When the Uber driver arrives, he looks at me, then at his phone.
Emeka? Did I pronounce it well? Yes. I lie to him.
My grandmother used to say I’m not a good liar.
I smile at him, my practiced smile.
He wants to know why I’m in Knoxville. He knows a friend
of a friend who once visited Nigeria. It’s nice there.
How far is Nigeria from Africa?
You mean how far is Nigeria from South Africa? Yes.
Silence crawls over, under the red walls of the black Toyota Camry.
I practice my smile. Thank you! I think I tip him.
Or I don’t remember to. Doesn’t matter now.
I walk into my new class, I sit on a chair. Do a little spin.
I imagine all my students, teenagers probably.
I practice my practiced smile. I introduce myself.
My name is Patrick. Smile. I’m a first year PhD student. Smile.
I want this class to be a safe space for everyone. Smile.
If, by any chance, you don’t hear me well. Smile.
Please, do not hesitate to let me know. Smile.
I step outside into the August sun. It smiles at me.
The world is good today. I’m one layer of anxiety less.
I call my lover in Boston. I call my friend in Alabama. I call my sister in Lagos.
