Tyler Altman

African Masks

Mid-morning, three large masks are above my “bed,”
Eye-slits and strange stretched noses prepared to sniff
This futon guest still dozing through sleep.
Not anymore, since my eyes twitch.

Fur blanket kicked clean off, I wake ashamed:
This face has tried, lied, comforted briefly, though
Still lacking the firm poised knowledge I’ve been a good
Invite and not just a dead load.

This room is not well known. Now dumbly act
Out comfort’s suave, sure-handed, and needless game:
Hide, seek the bathroom. Breakfast? No thanks;
Want is a bruise on my self-doubt.

Skin, bones—I don’t grow tired pretending peace?
How lonely must things get in the only brief
Look up—that life seems foreign—and tact
Surfaces, thoughtless and wasteful?

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Tyler Altman is a graduate of Boston University who majored in English with minors in German, Math, and Classical Languages. He is the recipient of a Shmuel Traum Prize in Literary Translation and has a review published at Open Letters Monthly. In the coming year, he will be teaching on a Fulbright in Austria.