Concealed

I lowered my mask to feel;

Ingest the crisp fall air,

taste the morning dew,

distract my senses from stuffy radiator dust

and the dull over-painted walls holding memories of tenants’ past.

Walking, walking, walking.

With tears streaming down my face,

I reminisced on times when 

adventures stood without barrier

and energy danced through the streets.

Faster, faster, faster.

As a white-haired woman grew closer, I covered my face—

protecting my emotions, collecting salty droplets of sorrow, pain, loneliness;

Smiling with my eyes. 

“Honey,” her eyes said back to me, “masks don’t hide everything.”

While I turned my head to look back at her, 

she lowered to mask to feel something, too.