After a Sri Lankan Sickness Mask from Horniman Museum
I am Kora Sanniya! Anyone I touch falls lame. No one
can defeat me, least of all those fools, with their drum
and dance, that stupid wooden mask. It’s nothing
like me, with its crooked grimace, eyes bulging
like a frog’s, ears like spoons. The shaman dips
and dances, pretending to be me, his bulging belly
bouncing, and the mask, it makes them laugh!
He mocks me, and the other demons crow
and point. Even the patient grins, when he
should moan and weep. I lost my face. Another
claimed it, stealing my voice, my name.
—
Previously published in Silver Birch Press
Horniman Museum
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