Hanging from a dragonfly hook on the wall
like a bunch of grapes ready to be picked
are the masks I’ve worn for over a year.

I think I’ll miss them. 

They were nice in the winter when they 
kept my face warmer than any scarf could.
The way I could express myself through their
colors and patterns. 

But I think I’ll miss them most for how they
sheilded my emotions from the outside world. 
I show everything on my face: my mother has told me. 
My disgust
My envy
My fear
My happiness
My confusion…

Yes, I will miss the masks. 
Even if I won’t miss the virus they protected us from.