The year we shrunk down
to our actual size
how vulnerable - how broken - how tired we were.
The year we made
club nights in our kitchens
dance hall in our front rooms. Played
the music of our teenage years.
Danced again to our first song.
The year we zoomed and zoomed
staring at our own faces growing older.
Took joy in a coffee made, in our favourite mug
to be drunk in our favourite hoody, on our favourite chair.
Went to work in loungewear, suit jackets over nighties
tackled the reading pile. Made a bubble.
Celebrated the first snowdrop and the last snow day
the coming of Spring. Took note of the birds in our gardens
and learnt their names. The year we lost our days
but found something in the passing of minutes
on a park bench, with an old friend, in the same view
seen daily. Put up our Christmas trees early and missed
our folks. Hogmanay in pjs and bed before the bells. That one year
that became two. The year we learnt less than we planned but more
than we thought. Found solace in quiet moments. Spent longer
listening to the worries of our mothers. Realised that change
can be made in a sharing of a smile (even from a distance).
That we had more than enough, that others had much less than they needed.
That a party can be the blowing out of candles on two cakes on two screens
a Granddaughter and a Nana sing Happy Birthday across the Irish Sea.
The year we learnt that we can get lost in our own front rooms
behind our own front doors, and that we can be found again
in the new day, in the way the sun streams in, in kindness, in a friend
reaching out. That the things we thought worth celebrating were not
the things we were most grateful for, a house full, a night out, a quiet pint.
Throwing your voice in a sing-a-long. Sitting close with strangers, sharing
their excitement as the curtain rises, the film starts, the band plays...