Masquerade
by James Penha
We were staying over in the living room
of our besties—she . . . and he whom I loved
obsessively to no physical avail but with
whom I remained colleague, editor, muse
philosopher, and madman poet partner—
anything to remain close. He held as well
as my heart the truth I steeled to share
with Mary my longtime girlfriend
as we finished off the cheese and sangria
sedative for the night on the living room
carpet. I have to tell you, I said, something
serious—You’re sick! she interrupted. No!
She’d felt my melancholia so often, she said,
she feared I was dying. And so she saw
a cloud lifting. But it was my mask needed
lifting before Mary. The phantom must
be faced tonight! I used to think, I said,
I could never love anyone until I found
him (sleeping now with his wife not me
in their bed) whom I loved more—veil
gone—than I could ever love Mary —I I I
cared for her even so! and therefore had
to be honest before we got carried away
into some some some thing apparently
normal because, I had to make crystalline
in this void of night and peculiar silence
that I was gay.
We had watched Monty
Python that night with our friends but
nothing flying in its circus matched
the absurdity as I turned for her reaction.
Mary? The solace secured in my survival
had cloaked her in a sound and soundless sleep.
PAINTING: “The Three Masks” by Juan Gris (1923).
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: A native New Yorker, James Penha has lived for the past quarter-century in Indonesia. Nominated for Pushcart Prizes in fiction and poetry, his verse appeared in 2019 in Headcase: LGBTQ Writers & Artists on Mental Health and Wellness (Oxford UP), Lovejets: queer male poets on 200 years of Walt Whitman (Squares and Rebels), and What Remains: The Many Ways We Say Goodbye (Gelles-Cole). His essays have appeared in The New York Daily News and The New York Times. Penha edits The New Verse News, an online journal of current-events poetry. Follow him on Twitter @JamesPenha.
James, you keep your reader in suspense! Good poem, good ending, good painting.
Oh my, all that painful buildup, that tension, and she slept right through it!!! Irony with the bite of truth…and so, so human. Love it.