Masks

I. Cotton Cloth
A neighbor put out a box: Free Take One
Please Be Safe
Mine is blue, printed with red and green stegosaurs,
pleated to fit over nose and mouth,
elastic loops for the ears.
I clutched it in place as we drove past ZoomCare
past the fire truck and the ambulance
and the paramedics standing by the gurney.

II. N95
is what I hope they were wearing
though we know there’s a worldwide shortage.
I saw masks and gloves,
reflective vests though it was
a sunny afternoon.
Safety is their profession.
Danger is their life.

III. O2
over the patient’s face
as he tossed on the gurney, wracked with pain.
I tell myself not to assume the worst—
people go to ZoomCare for everything—
he was sicker than he thought—
who knows, it could be appendicitis—
or—

IV. Bone
Under our masks, we all wear bone.
Under the flesh and skin, we all wear bone.
Bone is the last mask, the truest mask, the last face we show the world.
Under the bone there is emptiness.
Under the bone there is Truth.

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