Do I Know You?

by Jenny Morelli

No, you don’t know me.

How can you when I don’t even

know myself?

You know

I wear glasses

and have a stress-induced

pimple on my cheek.

But you don’t know

how I hate the social gauntlet

of parties.

Image credit: Gabriella Clare Marino on Unsplash

You know that I smile

at the end of your empty sentences

but you don’t know

that I’m only listening

for your pauses.

You think that we’re connecting

because I nod too much

and say Me too,

but you don’t know

how hard it is for me to connect

to words that hold

no substance.

You probably think

that I drink too much

based on my frequent red-cup sips

of long-gone liquid courage,

but you don’t know

that I’m looking for an escape

around that corner

or down that hallway

or during your sigh.

You ask ‘Can we get together sometime?’

and I wish I could say yes

just like that;

I wish I could meet you again

in some other place,

a softer place,

somewhere more honest

with nowhere to hide,

since you seem

nice enough.

I ask ‘Why?’

You drop your gaze

glance at me

behind a curtain of dark hair,

your smile crooked and unsure.

‘I want to know you better.’

And I cock my head,

also unsure,

before smiling back

and saying ‘So do I,’

and wonder

who I’m talking about.

***

Jenny Morelli

Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.