I will tell my grandchildren how
we hoarded soap when disinfectant
became gold dust, how shelves emptied
of yeast and lentils, how we took the vitamins
that had lain in cupboards for years.
I will tell them how pharmacies
mixed their own medicines,
how we cultivated home grown herbs.
I will tell them our lives became simpler
in days as the virus forced us to shed
the unnecessary. Flights and trade fairs,
concerts, rallies; in a year we had halved
our carbon footprint. At first it seemed
like unexpected chance, one beautiful chance
to heal. A world, where we were now empathy,
shrank to the size of our closest.
But time isn’t linear, rather a circle.
The story now becomes a tale.
I will tell them a policeman took his knee
off a throat. I will tell them
how we were immune to hate.
The world loved us and it was requited.
I won’t tell them, in the end,
we didn’t change. Ergo, I leave it here,
for later, to prove enough
of us wanted to make it better.
Children of my children, blood of my blood,
there will always be something left to love.
………….
Twitter @joburnspoems