Message to Virus. A poem by Siobhan Ward

I made space.

After all those years,
I joined a class.
I wrote a poem,
shared it like a gift.

Riding the top deck over
Waterloo Bridge after, I was
high on me and river vistas –
light-boxes of brilliance,
spot-lit, oversize geometry,
ranks of giant cranes cocked,
red dot beams warning of height.

You have put London and
me back in our boxes.
Not a shot fired and you’re
running the place.

Intimate terrorist, you
occupy the living room.
We creep around you,
sprawled out, spouting,
dictating, drunk on yourself.

Resistance is from within.
I collect and contain myself.

I make space.


Siobhan Ward lives in London.

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