The Mask-Crafter

Her first masks she learned from her mother. 
The happy smile
because she should not cry.
The puzzled frown
because it could not be her fault.
She fashioned them from
paper bags and cardboard
or sometimes even clay.
She was very young and the craft came easy. 
She made full masks when she started—
so much easier to catch the mood.
They were all constructed with care--
So much at stake to get them right.

As she grew older, her skill increased. 
The unstated question,
 a subtle eyebrow raise.
Eyes wide and open for surprise.
In her teens she learned to make half-masks
Just to cover the eyes
when the words were easy
or merely to cover the mouth
when the eyes could say enough.
These were more sophisticated. 
And she learned to use color.
Bright saturated color for joy
 and softer pale tones for contemplation.
At 21 she built a workshop and the masks increased. 
Each day new masks,
new ideas,
new emotions to evoke. 
Always the nuance so precise.
She learned to use resin and fiberglass
and made masks that could be used
and reused
and reused again.
In her workshop, she had an entire corner for patience.
She had a cupboard for confidence
With separate shelves for pride,
 and understanding,
 and compassion.
She had become so deft at adding
just the right tilt of chin
or a well placed wrinkle. 
Masks for all occasions. 

The masks changed after her mother passed away. 
Sadder masks--angrier
Masks with brows turned in
and mouth curled up on one side.
Masks with more gilt.
She lived on, alone in the workshop with her masks. 
For she had never found anyone
 who appreciated the mastery
of a mask-crafter.
The masks sometimes made it difficult to move about her workshop.
They were stacked into tall piles
 and hung on walls 3 deep,
 they were suspended from the ceiling like storm clouds
 and wavered on sticks--- a sea of identities.
And still she crafted on
And on
until that terrible day.

That terrible day when fire swept through her workshop…
through her life.
Afterwards,
In the dust and ash she could not find a single mask.
Not one survived.
She searched and searched amid all the debris
And then at last she saw it.
a glimpse of light…
a flash from something half buried on the floor.
She found a tarnished silver mirror,
a childhood gift from her mother
It bore a single crack.
She stood a long time and gazed within the broken mirror
And slowly started crying
because she saw a woman
she had never met.