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