mystery machine

standing at the mirror
i trace my finger around 
the seam where my face is
attached to my skull & consider
peeling it off
remembering the ending of
each episode when someone 
would be unmasked, faces torn
off in one careful twist of Velma's hand
how easily the mask turns into 
a leaf & blows off screen
i had a plastic mystery machine 
& dolls of all the gang shoved inside
on my hands & knees pushing them
around the kitchen floor, towards
another mask, i wanted all 
my mysteries to come free with
the pull of a hand at the corner
of a face, i try to pull, i do
but my face refuses, stares
back at me & declines to be plastic
i wanted to go with them 
in their blue & orange & green van,
traveling far away from 
family & hometown &
all obligation to live in one place,
moving fingers over necks
putting clues into mouth
& chewing them till 
they turned paper 
girls who grew up like me 
always knew we were Velma,
thick orange sweater &
glasses reflecting faces 
back to everyone she met
i am want to be her now more 
than ever, lining up everything
knowing who i can put my hands on
to reveal everything
i look at strangers now
& wonder whose faces 
would come free if pulled just right
i see them tumbling 
into the street, the faces,
shopping bag ghosts
i pull at my own face 
each day now
& sometimes it comes free,
but i always settle it 
back into place
i don't want 
to see yet