The Yellow Mask
by Renee Cohen

a shell, a body without a face
a face without a voice
a mask without a body
I hold my spirit in my hand
this yellow ginger mask
yet another persona
suffocating me, if I wear it, if I put it on,
behind it, no breath, behind it, no voice
mine to choose – my own mask
still it’s but a mask
a veil of suffocation
sister to the gloves in which I cannot write
sister to the grave, the disembodied ghost
in search of a body
this mask has called to me,
but no!
-this mask is not me!
I am behind the mask!
between the mask and me
an ambiguous dark space
right in front of my face!
I think I will wear the mask
on the back of my head –
what severe repulsion I feel
at seeing myself masked
before the mirror
the mask takes on something of me
what I am I am that I that animates this yellow mask
the challenge of being woman
to me         to speak
to shine         to be my own gold
reflecting nothing
I am not the moon
I am not the mask
but somehow the mask lives on me
Lady Pumpkin
hardy with promises
plump with excesses of summer collected in your crevices
a wall between me and my winter