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28th April 2020

It’s ages since I washed my hair

Yet I clean door handles with great care 

It’s so long since I’ve seen my friends 

But we chat on Zoom for hours on end 

I’ve planned all my meals for over a week 

But what of six months’ time? Of that I can’t think, let alone speak

I’m cross with people in the street

Bigger and bigger groups have started to meet

But I now know my neighbours

Their worries for their jobs, the names of their dogs 

I enjoy socially distanced chats while on my walks 

Then snap at my husband when he wants to talk 

In France we must fill in a form to leave home 

But last night there were house parties down the road. 

I was stopped by the police today 

Yet at the ice cream shop, a double scoop is on its way.

I can’t believe how quickly the days pass

What have I been doing? How’s it gone that fast? 

Yet it seems like years since this all started 

And friends and families were parted.

I worry about things I can’t change 

The people I can’t help, the trauma many must sustain 

I feel anxious that I’m spreading germs

I want solid answers. For that, there’s nowhere to turn. 

Yet the smallest things help so much. 

A sunny morning. Scrabble. Just being in touch. 

Tomorrow will be the same as the 43 days before.

But one day will be the day this ends. Of that, I’m sure.

By Emma Fielder


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