This morning I woke up before my alarm, and there was frost on the ground in the garden below my window and fog as far as I could see beyond. It was one of the surreal moments, where you are suddenly reminded 'I am alive at this moment, and there is none other like it.' Maybe it was my need for breakfast and a coffee, but as I gazed out my window I nearly forgot that this morning was the start of our second lockdown here in the United Kingdom.
During the first Lockdown, I was honoured to be a part of an incredible project called 'Insiders'. The Insiders Zine was a collection of works from poets, writers, playwrights, photographers, and illustrators which eventually raised over £1000 for the NHS Together charities. My poem, 'They Call This Spring' was published in this - my first published piece of writing, for which I felt great pride for, both in the sense of my own passion and the cause it was contributing to. You can find out more about the zine on their Instagram, @insiderszine.
I wondered how I would mark the days for this second month-long lockdown. I felt I wanted to mark the days, the express the emotion that felt so endless and overwhelming before into something I can nurture and grow, and put it into words every day. I wanted to write a poem every day, to chart it ina way that made sense to me.
I will be writing a poem every day for this month of winter lockdown. I will be posting some here, on The Sight Of The Stars, but you will be able to find them all every day on my Instagram @aimee_smithyy
I hope you enjoy them, and that they bring you some comfort in the days ahead. One day at a time, we can do this.
5th November, morning
I awoke this morning grasping For a sense of hope, Remembering The countless banana breads and new words In a foreign language.
It is a familiar misty terrain.
We've been here before, inside again.
But it is colder now, the birds are far quieter
And the blue sky seems slightly muted.
It's a muddy fresh start, but one we can grasp.
With hope in our heart,
Reaffirming the reason we're doing this,
And telling myself
There's only so long this can last.
I promise to approach this one day at a time,
This Fog will disappear in bright winter sunshine.
- A. M. E. SMITH