Masks and Memories

I was The Scarecrow at my own party

wore my father's jeans

stuffed with crumpled sections of the New York Times

and his oversized, navy plaid shirt.

I carefully smudged my mother's Georgette Klinger creme blush

on my two cheeks like fixed Checkers pieces.

I envied Dorothy

with her long braids, tight bows and glittery shoes

and also applauded the mess she made,

her fire-engine red sparkles

only partially fixed with Elmer's

spread all across my parents' spotless floor.

I loved The Cowardly Lion

had no idea she carried so much fear

hid so well beneath a veneer

of come on

and ease on down the

road confidence.

I understood The Tin Man

stiff in homemade cardboard sprayed silver

the genius among us and probably bored

until loosened by some oil for the intellect

rescued with the gift of heart

inside an awareness of time ticking

reminding us to appreciate

every moment

minute

second.

Masks

reveal more than you

intend

Memories

recall more than you

remember.

Best, xo

Lindsay