that the police see
when they drag you out in your bare feet
be the same twisted face
that stalked her day and night,
broke her windshield with a brick,
threatened to mutilate her and kill her new boyfriend?
Could the red angry “I never really loved you” face,
tightened into shrieking slashing fury,
be the same sweet face
that softened and brightened
crinkly happy eyes
when you took his hand and his ring?
Why didn’t you show that angry face before,
so that there would have been a warning?
Does your face lie?
Does it hide who you are,
show only who you want to be,
not who you are?
Or does it do just the opposite
and show exactly who you are at that moment?
Or worse, who you will be?
Or who you used to be,
and want to be no more?
Could that tired defeated face that you showed on your deathbed
that “leave me alone and let me die” face
really be the face that had never flinched,
that always radiated confidence,
radiated strength?
Confidence and strength.
For the first time,
the first time ever,
you had to admit there was something you couldn’t do.
Who are you?
Changes, those faces,
Always changes