| Delicate hands that change bed linen, empty bins, remove coffee cups. Patch up patients, clean wounds, warm hearts. You might not sing songs or write words on paper. Your words are the hands, the treasure. The gold dust, the vessel. I tell you the tale of the emergency worker, as if it were my own. But it’s your story, your unique journey. From a friend’s son who works with autistic kids, to the student doctors facing fears for the first time. The distributors who live in hospitals supplying PPE, to the industrious cleaner and the lady on the desk at beck and call. The check out man or woman, the postal workers and lorry drivers. The teachers, carers, doctors and nurses all in the front line, who work tirelessly and timelessly for our benefit. Your words, your hands. |
| Carol Fenwick is an an author and writer from Kent. Prior to this submission she has had work published in several magazines elsewhere including ‘The Blue Nib’ and ‘I am not a silent poet’. You can find more work under my pseudonym at http://www.geraldineward.wordpress.com |
Love this peom by my friend and fellow poet Carol Fenwick.