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This Too Will Pass . . .

The quiet of the quarantined streets,

cars holding their breath,

the trees rustling in a breeze

made loud by absence.

No children on the swings,

just an old man walking his dog

past the closed shops. Their shutters

sighing with surprise. Even the hospital

is silent. One nurse with sanitiser

and a mask. A small nervous room,

a door where no one can be sure

they will come back. The doctor

in his blue apron, medieval

in his breathing. How fragile

this world we thought we knew,

how paper thin our history,

our technology, our security.

How much closer we are

to cholera, tuberculosis,

those old names we thought

we’d left behind. How much closer

we are to the truth of ourselves.

By Aoife Mannix



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