The Mask
‘When all this is over,
can I take it out at Halloween?’
His laugh was hollow.
Did he catch my humour?
‘I’ll place the mould down, okay?’
Saliva gushed between my teeth,
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Stay silent. Stay still,’ he ordered.
Soft plastic entrapped me,
danced upon my lips,
trickled along the bridge of my nose,
slowly aged and hardened.
I tried to still my beating heart.
Second by second,
it grew more solid,
more cold.
Minutes passed.
I listened to him breathe,
imagined his eyes guarding, imprisoning.
My mouth became a Sahara.
Did I need to cough?
Christ, I couldn’t!
Mercy, please, wait till it’s over,
when he removes the mask.
More info:
I wrote the above poem during my MA in Writing in 2016/17. It was about the kind of mask that was created to help with the Radiotheraphy I would undergo after the brain surgery I had in 2013. It was these things where I was allowed to express an experience and only I for certain knew what it was about.
Whispered Words 