The Forgotten Mask

Upon the table, by the door,
Shibori-dyed with indigo,
I walked without it to the store:
the mask I dislike wearing so.

I own five more of cloth and two
that makers claim will filter flow
of virus particles (untrue):
these masks I dislike wearing so.

And after near six hundred days
of blocking air from mouth and nose,
I still forget – attention strays –
the masks I dislike wearing so.

(Kyrielle)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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