Impassive …

By Karen Zheng

But not vacant.

You just have to dig past the stony exterior.

To get to the fleshy core.

Beneath those wide set eyes.

That slant upwards.

Ever so slightly.

And those pillowy lips.

That so rarely smile.

Or frown, for that matter.

Something sits below the surface,

A bit like an egg.

You have to crack open the hard, grainy shell.

To access the gooey centre.

But then it gets messy.

Hard to contain.

The thin, stretchy fluid gets everywhere.

You want to scoop it back in.

But you can’t.

What’s done is done.

Impassive …

But not empty.