Preparation for Lockdown.
by Helen McNulty March 2020
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I am making lists
preparing for lockdown
almost believing
in the possibility
of an absurd end.
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A tingle in my nose scared me half to death.
Worldometer announced the first fatality in Ireland.
Who is this democratic assassin?
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Someone said: ‘it’s okay, she was old’.
As they are now, so will we be?
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A storm blows over the mountain,
Birch branches bang the roof like a bodhrán ringing in Paddy’s Day.
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I saw the acronym and thought of crows,
Pitch tar feathers in flocks
Scrimping the food from the field,
Picking the nits from the rams’ fleece.
Knowing where to go to weather storms.
Knowing how to perch their young away.
Knowing when to fly and when to settle in.
Wings, left and right, soaring steady and trusting on a windy day.
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When I had a fledgling growing in my nest
I imagined the little bird.
I imagined the destruction of all things.
I imagined hope.
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As long as my little girl from Clara Vale
In pure giggles and nowness
Day after day runs wild,
The World will go on turning.
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We ran through the woods looking for buds and muddy puddles,
For signs of skeletons growing new skin.
The trees were shedding old sticks and nests,
Flinging the debris to see where it lands.
Washing their hands thoroughly of the past.