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Message to a Woman in a Mask
by Wanda Schubmehl

One startled eye
peeks over the mask,
where blemishes and cracks
track time's passing.
Time wanes and waxes,
keeps some promises,
dismisses others,
distracts with memory's
gloss and polish
except at the heart,
broken. Cry
if you want to —
you are still a river.
Clear, cold currents
move across the scars,
scouring toward the bedrock.
What one eye can see
might shock a tender
victim. Keep on
looking. Calcify
nothing. Carry the pain
reverently, as if it is
a chalice. There is no one
who can consecrate
your life except for you.

 

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