Susie Morice

I came on silent feet,
slipped underneath your door
lay lazy on the floor
You soaped your hands,
mopped and scrubbed
it down the drain,
or so you thought
to stave the strain,
my novel presence there;
yet, weaseled in the corners
I scratched and clawed,
brazen, thirsting for a flaw, I hung
and ripped inside your lungs, infected,
knotted, left your song unsung,
finished you,
I slithered on.
In years to come
they’ll mark my day
and build a wall,
carve all your names
on miles of marble,
a pall will fall
across the land,
a marker left:
the COVID Wall.


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Bridge the Distance: An Oral History of COVID-19 in Poems Copyright © 2021 by Susie Morice is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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