Love in a time of webcam and masks

Poem by Alison Leonard

Mourners have swum in
underneath me, me from
hundreds of miles away
and no need to brave
Waverley and Piccadilly
for the sake of our goodbyes.

Now, after the grief and the gladness,
they swim slowly out again, under me,
until they are gone, and we are empty.

But no –
from hiding in the back pew
a man heaves himself upright and,
disentangling the mask from the specs,
the specs from the hearing aids,
the hearing aids from the wild grey hair,
weeps, alone.

Or thinks he is alone. But he is not.
I am with him. A huge
handkerchief envelopes his tears
as he swims, breast-stroke-slowly,
underneath my distant chair,
freely giving way to who he is,
and who she was, for him.

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