My Mouth

Something is happening to the corner of my mouth. This is not a part of me I'd have much noticed if not for a comment Abigail Asher made in 1984. Since then the mouth has not much changed—until now. A noticeable line now extends south from the corner about one-quarter of an inch. It's a wrinkle but it might not be. It might be the fissure that begins the utter erasure of the bottom part of my face. It might be a crack into which fall all of my finest comments and adages, unheard and unheeded. It might be a pit that collects the finest tidbits of fine foods (blood oranges, for example, or guacamole). Please let this line mend itself.