by Matt Aspin
We’ve always worn masks to survive. Now they’re just more visible.
They cover so much but they hide so little.
Since we can’t seem to look past our differences …
What if we just extend our masks of cover?
Instead of my mouth, why not cover my eyes? And my hair? And my skin?
If I walked around like this,
Would you know how to discriminate against me?
Of course, if I wasn’t walking, or if my body was differently sized,
You could still put me in your own box.
Perhaps that is the right mask.
A giant, grey, indistinguishable box. That slides across the floor on hidden wheels, covering all that makes our humanness sing.
Surely we could love each other blindly then?
I don’t want to be a box.
Please stop othering.
There are untold miracles behind all these masks.
Matt Aspin is Seattle-based chaplain and poet.
Featured image is licensed by Creative Commons.