The Year of the Mask

the year of the mask
of wild unkempt hair
and curls returning
of compliance and co-operation,
collectively safeguarding, preparing, hoping. 

I've sewn more masks that I can count
for my parents, sister, husband, friends, children, self 
and I've washed them too
over and over and over and over again

to see the world's faces awash with masks
is now familiar, however strange -
people covering their faces
is nothing new. 

I remember when I was eighteen 
and in my first year of university
I chose to study Arabic and Arab,
Islamic culture and history for my major -
I'll never forget having lunch with a girl called Fatima
who told me her hijab was liberating
it was personal she said, her religious conviction,
but it was political too - it was a social statement
she wore wore gladly around her head and neck
and was radiant. 

Our bodies are personal,
they are inherently worthy of love and respect
of care, compassion, of tenderness -
they our ours; not something to simply adorn
cover, or undress for others - 
and yet our bodies and our garments
do affect each other. 

A mask can be uncomfortable and comfortable,
it can be right and still feel distancing,
it can contain a virus and share solitary,
a symbol for an unjust disease,
​a symbol for common good

it's been a year of masks,
and I have worn them gladly.