"Adieux"
Kiersten P. Benson
(1997--)
Without a mask
my face is plain.
It isn't blank or boring or exhausted
it is merely exposed
devoid of any disturbing element that endeavors to distort it.
Try it must to cover me up
to smear some disgusting element across it
to erase whatever is left
of the face someone once made for me.
It's like unearthing something once lost
and though it has come back to you, it isn't the same as it once was before.
Perhaps it is covered in mud
in damp earth with leaves poking out and soft rain sticking to it.
Is it an abandoned love letter you once wrote yourself?
Or perhaps it is a lost toy long forgotten in the dirt
swallowed by memory and inevitable time.
Something tells me it is something different.
Something small
with two eyes
and one nose
and rosy lips. It looks familiar.
Perhaps you have to fix it, just a little.
A small wash in mirth and merriment. That's all.
Look in the mirror.
Talk to yourself. Remind yourself why you look alive today
and not dead.
"You know what doesn't scare me?" I think I ask this to the small girl in the mirror often (the reflection of yourself often tells more about your soul than you think).
I watch her.
In retrospect, she looks terrified.
But now.
She smiles.
"You. You don't scare me at all."
Then I think.
Nature is what scares me.
Not time,
not my naked face exposed to the world
but formidable dominance,
wonderful power,
strength that I will never be as beautiful,
as orderly, as balanced and dominant
and selfless as.
So what will I be today? Many ask this question every morning.
What face shall I wear,
as if it is a choice of color
or wood
or shoes.
Secretly there is a truth few discuss
upon the matter of masks.
Many believe you make your own from some element you may have gathered from the woods
or stumbled upon from the sea.
They say you can paint it yourself
with crushed seashells and plush berries,
the loud colours soaking in the wood like "beautiful elements",
they say. They seem to only drip to me.
But that is not what I have discovered nor believe to be true.
The secret is more simple than that.
Imagine the most beautiful face you have ever beheld
ever dreamed about
or wondered about its structure and
effortless form.
Perhaps you've given hours staring at it,
climbing the hills and valleys it is made from.
Maybe it was only a glance.
Is it real?
Do you know this face you think of?
Can you touch it? What does it taste like in your eyes? You can smell it, can't you?
It is beyond beautiful.
It's the face of someone you know.
I'm certain of it.
Today it is raining.
It is soft
and sounds enchanting.
My hair is down and tangles itself with this inseperable world delightfully.
My hands did not touch my face
or most importantly
my eyes.
They are there with innocent childhood and gigantic curiosity brimming from within them.
They are open today,
even if they look like they might possibly be sleeping.
I sigh peacefully and say,
to no one in particular,
"This is my face today.
Isn't it lovely?"
The snow falls quietly now.
It catches on every element,
and I think it quite agrees.
-k.p.b.
March 29, 2016 12:25PM
Tuesday (a wonderful day to be alive with wondrous music and soft falling snow mixed with rain)
