This month’s Oculus column features a poem by Ann Hurwitz, a member of the shul’s Judaism and the Arts group. Ann’s work is a submission to the Shehecheyanu Curtain, currently mounted on the north wall in the shul’s community room. The curtain beckons contributions of painting, collage, fiber arts, poetry, narrative and other creative efforts from our members and their families to memorialize our experiences during the coronavirus pandemic. Email the shul at ctigreenport@gmail.com with a message for Saul Rosenstreich requesting information on how you can contribute to the curtain.

“We were really tired. In fact, we are still tired. I wanted to stuff my masks into the back of the sock drawer and forget about them. But then, I began to see them discarded in so many places, and I began to think about later on — perhaps years from now — when they will show up in a museum or are made into quilts. We need to be thankful for what they have offered, for they truly have saved us.

As for me, I probably will continue to wear a mask for the unforeseeable future.

—Ann Hurwitz

Masks: An Ode

We were tired.

We thought it was over.

We tossed off the masks

and they drifted, unmoored,

by the side of the road

under the leaves,

on the highway patterned

by tires, in the spokes

of a bike, dropped in a

crosswalk, drowned

in a parking lot puddle

splattered with mud,

crushed under a chair leg

caught in a turnstile,

half-covered with sand

on the beach, on top

of a snowbank,

 at the hospital exit,

left in a grocery store

 cart, ditched on the tarmac,

   floating on waves, hung

 on the branch of a birch

 or the spar of a boat,

almost wherever you

looked they were there,

 including the ones, still

 festooned on our doorknobs

or swinging from the car’s

rearview mirror,

all ignored and unworn.

Gather them up,

these versions of us;

flowers and stripes,

polka dots and plaids,

many were black or

hospital blue, photos

of mothers and dads,

children and pets,

one even said VOTE,

paper or cloth, cowboy

bandanas in red,

N95’s, made in Korea,

China or Texas, Chipotle’s

The Best, layered and folded

they covered our mouths,

went over our noses

and under our chins,

elastic taut behind ears,

home-made and crafted

from YouTube instructions,

these millions that saved us,

remember, recover

and treasure each one.