Poem: Masquerade

I wrote this poem at the last creative writing workshop. It was inspired by Mary Karr's "Viper Rum." The prompt was: masks are a prominent party of Halloween. Write a poem about a mask or masks.

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Masquerade

For nineteen years I danced.
I danced to forget, unknowing, ill-caring.
There were no faces, eyes sanded away
leaving only the frame of things, the rock and sway
of blues, the kiss and linger of waltz.
Masks of glitter, masks of gold,
masks of clay and wood.
The sprung floor ached rhythms
and we wrung tears from the paneling.
A face painted black and white lead me blindly.
Eyes were painted over eyelids,
they fixed me upon my axis,
I could only spot on white pupils with each turn.
A woman with feathers leapt with pas de basque,
skirmishing the others until hearts subsided.
I found a mask on the ground, trampled, formless,
and yet we need not heed the warning.
We danced month after month, year after year
until drumming and fire flickered in ritual,
our madness conjuring motion from dust.

He came for us in the end, how could he not,
and he sent us awry, ascatter.
His mask was white, bloodless, rent and bloodrung.
I knew then he came for me.
The stamping became more furious,
the drums would not hush. I fled.
The mask I wear is the one I destroyed nineteen years ago,
the one my wife, my daughter, my family knew.
The cult-summons gleaned confession from me,
sweat escaped the sides of my face's tomb.
I tore it off, stripped a layer of skin,
recoiled in apprehension. The webs and spiders of the room
flooded me, harnessing, and when in years past,
I would let the rebound catch, this time, I pushed through.
The room was humming in ghosts and macabre.
Out in the river, I emptied my pockets,
the rope, the gun, the razors.
The water caught my glance, then hurled it back.
I touched my face; unconcealed, wet,
the first time I had touched it
since I had last seen myself.