C19-A poem in the time of Corona

Tonight in the poetry salon I read a new poem I wrote in response to the crisis we are in. It was a poem which came to me, and through me, bringing tears and a sense of witnessing. I was asked to share the poem more publicly, and so, here is a reading and the text. I offer it out that it may bring some accompaniment to those who have lost loved ones. May we treasure the gifts of their memory.Thank you, with love. Clare. xC19- A Poem in the time of Corona Every night the numbers are named.Eighty four.Thirteen thousands, two hundred and seventy one.Four hundred and eighty six.Seven hundred and twenty four.Over two million.Median Age. Notified. Transmissions. Clusters. Deaths.Somedays I almost mistake it as a game of bingo, or possiblyroulette. Until the Chief Medical Officer, whose steady and consistent voicehas become a kind of reassurance, remembers to say the necessary word:coldolences.To the grandmother, to the grandfather, to the lover, to the best friend,to the woman who loved to knit teddybears for the children in the hospital,to the nurse about to give birth, to the soldier with the polished war medals,to the school teacher with extra gold stars for the child who made the most effort,to the novelist who was not quiet yet there, to the cartographer who had many moreelegant maps to draw, to the cook with the secret ingredient, to the doctor with thespecial touch, to the gardener who coaxed even the stubborn corners into bloom,to the brother who had just given up the chip on his shoulder, to the neighbourwho always checked in, to the bus driver who knew the city like the lines on the back of hishand, to the refugee who had just found a home, to the single mother who hadsaved everything to put her daughter through college, to the migrant who posted lettershome with the simple words, ‘I love you, I’ll be back soon’, to the bingo caller whoalways remembered that behind every number is a winning smile, full house,a game of chance.‘Condolences’, the Chief Medical Officer says, and across the airways,the people count to ten and hold their beloved in their breath.Tomorrow, we are the ones who get to live another day,so we can name the dead by their gifts, and live then onwardswith the days we are still lucky enough to count. Clare Mulvany16 April, 2020West Cork,Ireland.