Self-Isolation

I don’t write personal stuff on my blog often (although a lot of poems are of course) but today I will break that rule

I thought I would have NO problems with self-isolation (I write, I study, I read, I go for walks, it’s fine) and I haven’t had a problem until VERY recently (after more than a month of it – started on March 15 I think). I don’t see people much anyway in normal life – my next door neighbours about twice a week (brief chats), a friend about once every 8 weeks for a coffee or some outing, visits from Aussie friends rare and very welcome, online friends every day (same as now) with no cam though, a hug now and then (lonely strangers have been known to ask me for one of those – always granted, why not). I saw my sons eyes on cam a few weeks back (very nice) but last night I was trying to write a poem about how I feel in isolation (really feel) and the only line I got was this ………..
” desperate to look in someone’s eyes, I summon Deliveroo” ….. kind of funny but pretty much true. The postman (if he brings a parcel) knocks my door and zooms on – by the time I open the door he is gone. The corridors where I live (and even the laundry room) are like walking through a ghost town. The Deliveroo guys (being mostly East European) make eye contact and do that charming little hand on heart bow some people do (I like it) but what I realised last night is I miss STRANGERS! The ones I chat to at bus stops, the checkout girl, the person who just walks up to me in the park and starts telling me their life story. I really, really miss that. Longing to see them again.

Day 5 – Isolation has strange effects.

My doorknob is keeping its counsel.
It’s been silent now for days,
Close lipped and dismissive of praise
As I attempt to flatter it open.
It’s not having any of that.
It’s afraid of a virulent virus
And thinks all doors are a danger.
It’s certainly not enamoured
Of admitting the random strangers
Who leave deliveries outside, on floors!
It’s proud of its strength of will.
It used to turn for me daily.
I went to Paris in France
Was entranced by the sights I saw.
Not anymore.
I can’t open the door
With this immovable knob.
I berate it.
I hate it.
Could I slip through the keyhole?
I wonder.
I probably could.
Not sure I should, that’s all.
My doorknob is often so wise,
Altruist and even brave
But such a failure of joy
Has caused me quite a surprise.
I surmise that the door knocker,
That hangs on the door outside
Has come out in strategic support.
They are using some mutual force.
The window’s too high.
Perhaps I can fly.
I can always grow wings, of course.