Writing through the pain I Sylvia Wohlfarth

26/07/20 Blown by gusts of icy wind — facial acupuncture, painful I descend on my grey seething river, frothing whirlpools Stifled memories of unending supermarket queues Have drenched me with an urge to get home To warmth and dry/and tidy up my life A small compensation in preparation For unforeseen pending isolation Impatiently, I stop at the bridge And watch her sullen flow.

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