By Charlotte Dean

Masks

I never cried for my father

On that warm Halloween night;

Mother went to the door with candy,

Masking the heartache she felt—

To give a brief moment of happiness to the children,

Clothed in their costumes and masquerades.

Too busy hiding the emptiness and agony within,

She made the rest of her life service to others—

Her family first--but,

A few short years later, she too was gone.

Years later-- on my Mother's birthday—

Her great-granddaughter's father died.

And Then I cried for my father.