Mona Lisa Eyes

Kaylana Sareen

Frosting-smeared, rosy-bubble cheeks.
Squeaky clean thumbs doused in saliva
To lick clean the evidence.
Sparkling-glass, bullseye-target eyes.
Packed-full stomachs of chemically threaded
Vanilla cake and chocolate pudding filling.

Like bowling pins they wobble about,
Knocking elbows and stepping on toes.
The dinner party had just begun.
I cut the cake in tiny squares,
Passing the paper plates to their plastic hands.

I listened. I mingled.
I stood perfectly still as they approached me,
Talking endlessly of their meaningless lives.
I did not remember the times they held me as a baby,
I did not know they were family friends,
I did not care that their child was the same age as me.
They breathed out irrelevance, and- like a second-hand smoker-
I breathed it in.

Hours of popping tiny cheesecake cupcakes,
And stuffing cheeks with whip-creamed strawberries,
Passed on like summer school-
slow and miserable.
My words soon became the lines of a song stuck on replay:
“Good… yes…. no…really?”
“Good… yes…. no…really?”
And again and again.
Until finally their words became more important than mine,
And I could daydream while they spoke endlessly
Of the tragedies within their superficial lives.

This dinner party has gone on too long.

As, between chews and gulps, they spit their stories,
I look around the room.
I am engulfed in a facade, a farce of reality.
These people do not know who I am,
And yet they speak to me as if I’ve waited
Oh so long to speak to them.
Smearing, laughing, wobbling,
Talking, walking, popping,
Stuffing, chewing, gulping-
Oh God! Spare me this last hour of insignificance!

But the hour drags on and standing in the corner,
I stare with my Mona Lisa eyes,
At the mannequins of tragedy.


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