Mask: Volume II
An empty, empty nester
Once boisterous Now unbecoming Misty glass distorts Ever darker circles beneath eyes bloodshot Streaks of gray run a muck through hair dark as oil Stereocilia vibrate craning to hear Sounds of ghosts once sprinting about Haunting A shell of a woman Images burn behind closed sunken eyes The mask hides. Underneath, her skin pricks Blood runs hot Muscles tense, so stiff corners of her mouth refuse to turn To remove the mask means surrendering. To remove the mask means moving on. To remove the mask means letting them go.
i will no longer be attending your masquerade
sometimes i think life is just one big costume party. a performance piece, a parade of curated design. i have never been one for a clean-cut aesthetic, have always found more pleasure in flaws, more intrigue in the broken bits of a soul. i think we are all like those collages from high school cut up images, with failing glue and peeling corners. show me the beating heart underneath and i’ll show you mine. i no longer have interest in masks, no longer willing to sit politely in the corner while i yearn to remove my manners and dance on the table
The Beauty of the Ordinary
The beauty of a mask Is the temporary reprieve From an ordinary, uninteresting life. A moment of intrigue, The lure of a mystery, Who is it that hides inside? Unencumbered By endless restraints, Daring to dream like a child. Behind the slits The eyes shine bright In the whimsy of escaping for a while. But the fabric begins to Cling too tight. Beneath layers it’s hard to breathe. Desperate hands Tug along the edge, Yet the material refuses to pull free. Beware the danger In playing pretend, Make-believing a little too long. For a life can get lost When the mask fails to come off, The beauty of the ordinary forever gone.
Not For Us
Halloween isn’t a holiday for people who regularly browse among the dead in cemeteries pondering what lives those deceased led. Not for people for whom Gravestones have become old friends familiar staples like bedroom furniture. Halloween isn’t for people who have buried beloved small bodies, not for people for whom Coffins hold the most precious cargo And for whom Ghosts are comforters who come in dreams. We aren’t Halloween people, but we are the bravest, for when the ghosts fade our daily waking reveals a living nightmare. And when the Masks come off they reveal horrendous scars, Scars that mark our losses, Scars that we cherish.
Masks
She wakes up wondering what will she put on today? A touch of grace and humility perhaps, righteous anger self-compassion, always joy that leads her forward heaps of patience. She wraps herself in mercy holding tight to the unravelings of her heart. She is well, at peace. What else can she put on, for her spouse, children, and friends? An open heart a willingness to embrace others and ambiguity. Yes, she thinks, this is all good. And well. But what of that which she hides behind? The masks of overconfidence, assuredness and “yes, I’m fine.” The questions that diffuse her own doubts she wants to pull them off, forever. The morning seems so hopeful, full of possibility. Can she do it? Listen, she hears, a voice rising from deep within her: “Let me hold those masks for you, give them to me. I already see you as you are: clothed in love.
Something’s Dead
If someone says, “It smells like something’s dead” it’s because something’s dead. But Barb had forgotten about the buzzards that were buzzing around on Sunday until it was Wednesday, when something went bump in the early evening, cutting her mowing short. I was keeping an eye out for the super blue moon when the super dark shriek phoned from across the street: “Something is dead! It’s stuck in my tractor and it won’t start! I don’t have the stomach for it!” It takes guts, I guess, to be a good neighbor. But this was roadkill. So, I might lose mine. With headlamps and hands on hips, we assess: “Do you think it’s a cat?” “Definitely not a cat.” “Oh, okay, because I’m allergic.” “Least of your worries right now.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” “Let me get a hefty bag from my garage.” “Oh my goodness … how … I guess … I don’t even … are you sure?” “I’m a Girl Scout, Barb.” But suffice it to say, I did not earn the carcass-removal badge. Because it would not budge. Unlike the maggots, that were eating its lower mandible and high testing my gag reflex. We parted ways with pinched noses and agreed to Google our options. Turning it loose, as it turned out, would require daylight and the will of one repairman. If someone says, “It smells like something’s dead” it’s because something’s dead. Something was dead. But we lived to see just the tail (end) of the backyard bandit. Because this one was missing its mask.
Let Me Be
05:00
A baby and a toddler wide-awake
In the pre-dawn darkness
I slip on
The Mama-mask
For them
For me
And greet the day
With a smile
On the face of my bone-tired body
09:00
“What a beautiful day”
Arms wrapped around a solid little light
We stare out the window, him on the sill
I mostly mean it
The mask and I morphing
Joy and gratitude
Seeping into me
The mask leaking
The gift and risk of mask wearing
12:00
No mask
Just me
And the kids
Food plated
Hands being held, breath drawn in
To sing enthusiastically
Grace
Moments
Of simply being
20:00
Kids asleep
Teammates talking
I slip on self-control
To mask the rage
The ironic residue of all the peacekeeping masks I wore as a child
All masks leave something
Inhale and exhale, until I can remove it
Without hurting someone
Or feeling too vulnerable
21:30
I sit and look at myself
Reflected back at me from my journal
So broken, so beautiful
There is a cost in mask wearing
And a cost in not
In the unmasked moments
Where brokenness breaks
Me
Those I love
21:31
Unsure where the masks end
And where I begin
Exposed
Safe
Surrounded by grace
As You look with me
As we do that lifelong healing dance
Let me be
Yours
Another epic round of poems!
Really enjoying this theme!