When the government told us to stay in our homes
I grew bricks for feet.
I watched each day unfold through spyhole eyes.
Outside of myself was a world seemingly slowed to only
a glass-portioned sun moving shadows across empty streets,
and the sound of sirens just beyond my periphery.
My mind was a television set that only played bad news.
It told me that my hands were handles
that must be disinfected until their shine had dulled.
No matter how quiet my street may seem
thieves were lurking, so I kept my door-mouth locked
and prayed they would not break in.
In the end I had to switch it off.
My lungs had become a garden that was suddenly too small.
I was all kitchen.
My stomach was an empty cupboard.
I dreamt of shopping lists.
At breakfast my tongue was the dining table.
I had to wash my mouth out between meals
so it could double as a school.
Jennifer Nuttall (L3)