Nothing Left Beneath

It’s been a decade since I first slipped

this mask on,

the day my mother said

goodbye to her child.

You left me,

a broken girl, masked for protection.

I unmasked myself

only in that split second before I fell

asleep, drifting into a void

of feeling.

My mask became a part of me,

the way my friends don’t recognize me

without my eye glasses.

When I said goodbye last year

to my child

whom I’d never met,

I tried to take off the mask.

That’s when I found that there was

nothing left

beneath.