I had worn it so long, that mask,
I didn’t notice it no longer fit.
In fact, I didn’t notice I wore it at all.
Every day I woke up wearing the mask.
I wore it all day, then returned to bed wearing
the mask. I don’t even remember putting it on,
what, was it as a child? Slowly, we come
to take habit as truth. Besides, on the outside,
it was pretty enough. Placid and happy.
It was only today I noticed how on the inside,
the mask had hair of snakes, how I was being
surely turned to stone. I did not want
to break the mask. I did not know
what the face beneath it might be.
I was afraid to not like what I saw.
There is a call to be ruthless, our hands
rising to do what must be done,
though some voice we thought
was our own shouts at us to stop.
And there is another voice. Perhaps
you’ve heard it, too. I notice
it’s easier to hear it when the mask
isn’t covering my ears. It’s strange
today to walk down the street.
I don’t know what I might say.
I don’t know what I might do.