pax
ONE love, blood, life
One year later I sat before my mirror
with brushes and pigments and potions.
Yet staring back at the blank pink slate
of my still-youthful face,
I found that I could not begin.
I surveyed the supplies: foundation
to cover, powder to finish, blusher to
brighten, sponges to blend. I had
the tools to make beautiful what is
not. I could conceal and prettify.
But I could not pick up the color,
would not do what had become
so natural. My face a death mask,
I remembered last September:
the flames, screams, and tears
from too many places. Brightness
is wrong, knowing that this powder
cannot settle over the dead and no
eyeshadow can know what evil
lurks within the hearts of men.
Life rolls on, despite or without
these efforts. Still I faced the world
with lipstick and combed hair,
and looked into lined eyes. And
no one has won this pageant.
with brushes and pigments and potions.
Yet staring back at the blank pink slate
of my still-youthful face,
I found that I could not begin.
I surveyed the supplies: foundation
to cover, powder to finish, blusher to
brighten, sponges to blend. I had
the tools to make beautiful what is
not. I could conceal and prettify.
But I could not pick up the color,
would not do what had become
so natural. My face a death mask,
I remembered last September:
the flames, screams, and tears
from too many places. Brightness
is wrong, knowing that this powder
cannot settle over the dead and no
eyeshadow can know what evil
lurks within the hearts of men.
Life rolls on, despite or without
these efforts. Still I faced the world
with lipstick and combed hair,
and looked into lined eyes. And
no one has won this pageant.
