STILL
by Felicia Olusanya*
Covid came.
And Ireland stood still.
Shocked at how much could gather at our doorsteps – like dust.
We wrestled with what we might,
What we may,
How life would continue in the ways it must.
Stood still.
The virus ate through limbs of every family tree,
It choked out lives we’d built roots around,
It emptied out purses; cutting money by the foot,
Rendered hearts bruised, even persons forgotten,
Left us breathless. For dead.
Still.
We closed into ourselves.
We folded behind lock and key,
Inhaled through fogs of uncertainty,
We found fun in the walls of our homes,
Made it work,
Fashioned it for play,
Carved out sections to fill joy with,
So we can hold it firm on the days we didn’t know what was next, what could happen.
Stood still.
For those whom age had known beyond a golden jubilee,
Whose eyes glaze with film reel memories,
Whose daughters have vowed to love them in their sunset,
Whose sons have kissed them in their sunrise.
We want the vision of us in full colour.
Stood still.
For frontline workers armed with nothing but faith,
For emerging minds that must dare to dream in high definition,
For lonely minds that are glaring at love through a screen,
For bodies that create homes in cardboard shelters.
Still.
For you. Ireland is standing still.
But tomorrow, when our knees go soft with impatience and the gates of our homes swing open,
Which way will our legs go?
Which path does our heart know?
*Nigerian-born Felicia Olusanya, known as FeliSpeaks, came to Ireland at the age of seven as a refugee. She studied English and sociology at the National University of Ireland and now regularly performs at spoken word events around Ireland. She recorded this poem for a special Prime Time television broadcast which took stock of six months of the Covid-19 crisis in Ireland. Listen to it here.
by Felicia Olusanya*
Covid came.
And Ireland stood still.
Shocked at how much could gather at our doorsteps – like dust.
We wrestled with what we might,
What we may,
How life would continue in the ways it must.
Stood still.
The virus ate through limbs of every family tree,
It choked out lives we’d built roots around,
It emptied out purses; cutting money by the foot,
Rendered hearts bruised, even persons forgotten,
Left us breathless. For dead.
Still.
We closed into ourselves.
We folded behind lock and key,
Inhaled through fogs of uncertainty,
We found fun in the walls of our homes,
Made it work,
Fashioned it for play,
Carved out sections to fill joy with,
So we can hold it firm on the days we didn’t know what was next, what could happen.
Stood still.
For those whom age had known beyond a golden jubilee,
Whose eyes glaze with film reel memories,
Whose daughters have vowed to love them in their sunset,
Whose sons have kissed them in their sunrise.
We want the vision of us in full colour.
Stood still.
For frontline workers armed with nothing but faith,
For emerging minds that must dare to dream in high definition,
For lonely minds that are glaring at love through a screen,
For bodies that create homes in cardboard shelters.
Still.
For you. Ireland is standing still.
But tomorrow, when our knees go soft with impatience and the gates of our homes swing open,
Which way will our legs go?
Which path does our heart know?
*Nigerian-born Felicia Olusanya, known as FeliSpeaks, came to Ireland at the age of seven as a refugee. She studied English and sociology at the National University of Ireland and now regularly performs at spoken word events around Ireland. She recorded this poem for a special Prime Time television broadcast which took stock of six months of the Covid-19 crisis in Ireland. Listen to it here.
