By Lynn White
PROMPT—During Covid-19 ...
It wasn’t the first pandemic
and, as in all the ones before
birds sang an opening chorus
for the pollen laden bees to hum
on their way through the miasma
to the flower borders in the park
summer buzzing and blooming
bursting into full swing.
But there in the playground
the swings were empty,
the marks on courts fading.
No one played outdoors
and no one played indoors,
the cafes were as empty as the park.
Isolation was complete that summer.
And now, for some it’s almost forgotten.
For others the old habits have died
and the new old habits are hanging on
carrying emptiness like bees carry pollen.
New rules were made that summer
and its hard not to obey them still
staying at home in private space
neither visiting nor visited
but in a hazy miasma
waiting and hoping
that its clouds
will be blown away
before memories fade
like the marks on the ground
as we try to retrace our steps
back to where we once were.
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. She writes from Blaenau Ffestiniog.
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