(written Nov 2020)
2020 is a crust
that has formed over me
and muffles my mind in
a foggy shroud of rising numbers
numbed by tepid tea
and wine poured thick against injustice
and meagre human contact.
I long to share a silence
un-cushioned by a squinting screen
to slough this shushed skin of
and pierce my body into freezing water fresh with
and words that dart around like silver moonlit fish.
© Charlotte Oliver 2020