Photo by John Noonan
Sestina for a Pandemic
At night, our dinner over, firewood lit, dishes clean,
we sit by a radio console, children and parents, eyes
closed. The music soars. We hold our breath. Still.
A voice: “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts
of men? The Shadow knows.” From opening to last,
The Shadow, hero in disguise, saves the world.
Photographs whisper tales of the Halloween world
of Singer machine whirr, cloth, glitter—mirror-clean
memories of my mother sewing masks made to last
for our prowl through the neighborhood. Only eyes
revealed us hiding in our cloaks. My mother’s heart
pinned, snipped fabric escapades both wild and still.
Morning, and snow piled like marshmallows, still
perfect for a sled set to hurtle down an icy world.
Our faces? Wrapped scarf-warm in masks of hearts
and plaids, rough and woolen, kept fresh and clean
since last December. Bump, slither over hills, eyes
squinting into white. Why does a lone memory last?
Sick with cancer in Covid-time, my brother (at last)
gives me his brass ewer to complete the set. Still,
I covet the half-mask hanging in his room: eye-
holes slit, a Rialto market souvenir from a world
he traveled. Black leather winks, promises clean
flight with a man tricked by masquerade and heart.
Safe in my family circle—heroes, thieves at heart—
costumed in blue or scarlet cloth guaranteed to last
through a virus ride, I imagine: in secret, in clean
air, I stroll Vienna in a paper mache mask, still
find ways to sip espresso, devour a cornetto world
too vibrant to see or fear pandemic’s empty eyes.
Why do masks beguile me? I amble along, eyes
open to blinding wind, sun, rain, snow. My heart
revives. Poof! Invisible now, I escape this world
of barefaced virtue. Though I breathe into the last
and the first of who I am inside this fabric, I still
hope dawn finds my face, my slate wiped clean.
Play It in a Mask
If nature masks her world in fog, leaves, eyes
of daisies, if moon escapes—her getaway clean—
behind inked clouds, then disguise suits. At last.
The Author
Antoinette Kennedy, author of the memoir Far from Home, is a former teacher living in Hillsboro, Oregon. She earned a BA in literature from Marylhurst College and an MA in Franciscan Studies from St. Bonaventure University in New York. A recipient of an Oregon Literary Arts and Fishtrap fellowship, her work has appeared in Upside of Fifty, Passager,Wingless Dreamer, Dreamers, Beyond Words, Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing, Poets Choice, TallGrass, and first place in The Joan Ramseyer Memorial Poetry Contest – 2021.
