Walking by some African masks
My face is blank. Soft skin. The hint of lines. More like you than not like you.
You don’t like to see my face contort, its plasticity making anger, joy, sadness, fear. When my face contorts you think I look wrong.
What we’re taught: Keep your feelings in check. Make the sad things feel better. Be nice. Stay away from the things that sting.
Walk through the field of masks, suspended from wires, encased in glass. These are the specimens of the power of nature. We caught them and put them away.
We don’t need to be afraid like that anymore. The spirit world has been banished. We don’t need to fear unbridled passion.
Our faces don’t have to tell any story that we don’t want to tell.