In their hands

May 21

By Clare Dyckhoff

“Where were you when it happened, Mummy?” -
Her daughter, asking the tenth time that week
Hands too tired from cleaning empty desks and screens that could crack
As easily she might
If she were to use her last ounce of energy - to speak

Moving into the platform is the only momentum he has
As he pulls into a station of mask-clad bodies
Separate and desperate
United by a shared “mind the gap”
Hands gripped on the wheel this time
Every inch closer to fraying...to snap

Julie’s new on tills but you’d never have known
Navigating from the world of Media to “next please” recitals
Blowing on her gloved hands to keep them warm
As she helps customers keep weathering the storm
Where buying a pack of tissues, vodka, and fruit was the only chance for hope
The new way to connect - a strange norm

Juggling science lesson Zooms with those in the room
Scrabbling at Miss’s knees
Watching 6 year olds cry with glee to see their friends
With games of “IT” dissolving faster
Miss, without the heart to tell 4 year olds to “stand back”
Sobbing into sandwiches under skyscraper towers of paperwork
With not a mention of a thank you - let alone a clap

He’s having to apologise to Ken, 90, once again
For his daughter is not allowed back in
His hands will be the one to hold all medication, and card games to keep him busy
Even though he’s worried about when he might see his own family
Once again

The year has fallen into our laps without a chance to prepare
We’re all worn and tired and yet we never hear grumbles
from those who’ve been out there
Ever since this happened - and we’ve had more than we can stand
Has only kept on moving
from those silent,
incredible people
The ones - at 2m -
reaching out for our glass-boned hands

Written Word ‘Heart’ poems

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