The news starts to report something new.
We enter the new year with barn dances and singing
and we are so happy and there’s nothing to worry about yet.
But.
They keep reporting
and reporting
and reporting
and I’m starting to get worried and I’m panicking a little
but it’s okay because people are sure it won’t be that bad.
It is that bad.
We have to start social distancing and washing our hands more and I stop going into school because
I don’t want to catch it.
We watch the news and stop going out as much.
He moves in.
There’s so many sleepless nights.
How are we meant to live?
We start to do school outside
when it’s sunny and soak up the fresh air in the front garden.
It bleaches our hair and tans our skin and we all start to get little freckles on our arms
and we work as a family to join the dots and figure this out.
We draw and write and sit on blankets from our sofas and read poetry, novels and history books
and laugh at each other when our pages go flying because it’s a little too windy.
One walk a day with our excitable dog who wants to make friends but can’t
so we spray him with water
and laugh when he gets in the bath all by himself.
We play piggy in the middle with the six of us and laugh when I’m always in the middle and they all bully
me for being the short one.
We start to do haircuts from home and learn to do close shaves and fades and fringes and trims and
we all laugh at how quickly the boys’ hair grows.
We take it in turns to cook.
I make noodles and chicken
I’m so overwhelmed, but we eat outside and play charades
and it might as well be me and my twin playing because we always win.
I start writing again and standing on the tables to quote Shakespeare while dad shakes his head and
laughs at me
I’m feeling better but then not really
Can I explain it?
Maybe I don’t have to.