Mask Making


I watched your face
take shape
in my hands:


wide nose
round ears
and whiskers


smoothed from
plaster
and built with gauze


eyes brushed
with deep browns
covered with glaze


your face
once finished
fit over mine like skin.


Underneath,
I become small
and step out of your way


two inches tall
I sit on my right ear
as you come to life


spreading our body
and roaring voice
in tremors across the room


you lay hands
on foreheads or shoulders
singing songs I've never heard


you move those touched
to tears of trembling
and laughter.


Later, I hold your face
in my hands again
and you watch
as my own mask begins to slip.



Go on to the next poem, There and Back.




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All poems copyrighted by the author, Tracey Besmark 1997©