Under My Mask
there is no lipstick
on my pale thinning lips
under my mask
no celebration of birthdays
or summer
we are bleached out
beached out like whales
who have lost their way
there is no deep breath
into my aging lungs
under my mask
no fireworks
or tricks or treats
we are as weary
as a mother of babes
and there is no rest for the weary
there is no singing
from my silent throat
under my mask
no community of praise
or writing on the calendar
for a future together
