| Poetry


At the grocery store today—
these meteors and angels, wise men and all
the beautiful hallucinations of December, wearing
the masks of the Ordinary, the Annoyed, the Tired.
The Disturbed.
The Sane.

Only the recovering addict with his bucket and bell
has dared to come here without one.

He is Salvation.
His eyes have burned
holes in his radiance.
Instead of a mask, he has
unbuttoned his face.


Laura Kasischke has published eight collections of poetry and eight novels.  Her most recent collection, SPACE, IN CHAINS (Copper Canyon 2011) received the National Book Critics Circle Award.  She lives in Chelsea, Michigan, with her husband and son and teaches at the University of Michigan.

2 Replies to “MASKS”

  1. Reminds me of Hawthorne. “The Minister’s Black Veil.”