At least I can see your eyes –

even though they look sad and tired.

Your shoulders, too, are not the same.

They are rounded.

Perhaps an unnamed shame is weighing you down…

or maybe grief.

There is good reason for grief.

You stand at an awkward distance

as if a cloud of contagion was

surrounding me 

like Pig Pen’s dust.

I feel embarrassed somehow

by the invisible cloud.

I mean you no harm, of course.

Your eyes dodge mine, anyway.

The disconnect between us, 

is strange –

its wordless noise brings 

a haunting isolation.

The masks have swallowed our voices.

I hope one day to see your smile…

Your dependable dimples

could always brighten my day.

But now all I see is the barrier

we all have to wear.

I miss your face.

Copyright© Cynthia Cady Stanton, May 2020.