Masks
We talk a lot about that here
Which is good, I think—it must
Be an important theme
I’m not sure why I was talking
Yesterday with my brother
About Guy Fawkes
It’s a strange holiday from my
American look—you know,
“Remember the fifth of
November and such”—but
Then, I have “the eighteenth
Of April, in Seventy-five;/
Hardly a man is now alive”
(hardly)
Remembering, as we should,
That Revere had help from
Other riders, a man and a
Young woman
There—I’ve forgotten about
Masks, like the one on Guy
Fawkes (used in V is for
Vendetta), a definition of
Wry, sardonic looks broadcast
Throughout the realm
Carnivals (pick a nation) wear
Masks, as do some super-
Heroes and, well, bank
Robbers, too
Celebration (okay, maybe
Criminality), impression,
Second plastic skin, the
Need to turn away
But I think we mean the
Masks that hide our feelings,
Even our deeper thoughts—
Things that need concealment
And from which we fear
Exposure
Do you know who I am? a
Twenty-first century search
Finds sad response: a number
Of YouTubes (Do you know
Who I am? I’m entitled to
Road rage),
Well-known persons in the
Mind, at least, who have
Declared this in a gross
Way—and a book for women
(And, who knows, the book
Might be good)
But for the earnest question,
We don’t perceive the block,
Which is, we cannot ask
The question:
Masks inhibit the seeing of
Another and the hearing of
Oneself
It’s really a question that
Has beauty; now it needs
Strength
To ask and, on the way, taking
Down—relenting—of our
Masks, souls in disguise
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