We never knew or understood
what was behind the mask,
There was the mask she presented
to the public,
the face she presented to the minister
of our church,
the softly spoken, gently smiling mask,
for those she wished to impress;
There was the mask of the woman,
cajoling, wheedling, persuasive,
to get what she wanted from our father,
who never, I think, ever saw behind the mask.
There was her public persona mask
for the neighbors and our teachers
and the store keepers,
an impersonal mask — but she had an innate way
of letting them know – do not get too close,
do not disagree with me or
cause me any grief –
because as sure as God made little green apples,
you will rue the day
you ever came into conflict with me.
They never did.
We, however, were a different ball of wax.
Once inside the house, away from public view,
She took off her mask
and lashed out at us,
brutal and ruthless;
Her rage was beyond our comprehension;
We only knew to hide from her,
From her anger, to hope and pray
we could survive.
We did not know or understand
what was behind the mask,
But we recognized evil when we saw it
staring us in the face.
We cowered in fear and
waited for our father to come home from work.
Sandra Lee Smith
Originally posted October 28, 2009
Updated October 7, 2018
