Twelve tolls. A poem by Hannah Kiely

The church bells ring
twelve times
in the deserted village.
Sound of doom,
funeral like.

Death diminishes us
when it comes.
For come it will.

My neighbour
on her daily 2k
side step each other
on the pavement.
‘Strange times.’
‘It is indeed.’
‘Mind yourself.’
‘you too.’

And… the one
daily interaction,
is over.

The Village Post Office
the centre of hushed
voices.
Still open,
selling everything
including toilet rolls.

A vital cog
in this moving wheel
of pending disaster.

………..

Hannah Kiely lives in Galway and is undertaking her MA in Writing at NUIG