I bring them to climax. His jaw is weak. I’ve slipped off his red mask. The pots rattle. They bang the cupboards. They come through his bedroom walls and tear up our night’s bedsheets. They throw the feathers and pull on me and I hold him. They take him.

He had blonde eyebrows and a beauty mark under his left eye.

I wore the red mask and slept with his wife. She wore a red mask. I built a block tower with his children in red masks. The last best moments with their red mask. I haunt their house in a sheet as the red mask. They are under the certain impression that he’d died.

I wore the white mask and hung laundry with her sisters. I fed her father. I sat with her father then on her father. Her father loves port and fudge. Her father loves her breath close and her father’s couch is enormous.

I pulled the yellow mask’s eyelashes in my lips before they came.

Robert Eversmann
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