Through a Window. A Poem by Marisa Barron

I drive my child through, laughing and smiling and trying to make a game of this whole thing, but with masks on our faces.
I smile and thank the staff and they do their job.
They praise her for being so brave, they tell us we can go and we say goodbye.
Through a window.

I run into Lidl to get her a treat for her bravery, but I can’t bring her in.
I leave her in the car, on her own talking on the phone and car locked.
We normally do this together and I look back at her.
Through a window.

I come back with her favourite pastries to see a little old lady smiling at her.
We say hi, she starts to cry and tells me how she misses her grandchildren so much.
She’s heartbroken but we can’t hug, I can’t comfort her, so she smiles at my child.
Through a window.

It’s my sister’s birthday, I’ve never missed her birthday, so we drop over supermarket flowers and a homemade card.
We chat and smile for a few minutes, but we both want to stop because this is almost harder than not seeing each other.
FaceTime is easier, we kiss goodbye.
Through a window.

My child tells my Mum how much she misses her, loves her and gives her all her news.
She asks when she can come inside or when can she sleepover, but we change the conversation because we don’t know.
They hug and hold hands.
Through a window.

I sit at the kitchen table watching my children play.
Safe at home, but not really with them because ‘Mummy is working’.
I thank my lucky stars that it’s sunny and that I can get some work done, but concentrating is not as easy as it used to be.
Through a window.

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