The Surface

of that black and white mask
she wore for us
cracks like an eggshell,
brittle chips peeled away
for an opening big enough
to let her shine out,
warm in that soft
orange dress—
Like sun breaking
under a storm cloud,
its color glad as a shout
strong enough to burn
a window through
that dull monotone,
the paper shield
she thought she needed
to keep safe behind—
Its flimsy surface breached
We can see her face
through the open tear
shyly tilted
down and away
letting that bright
orange dress
speak her heart’s
true capacity.