by Clara Boon.

This year I was a carer,
This year I showed great strength,
This year I was a worrier,
This year I was scared to sit on a bench,

This year I lost Clara,
This year I didnÔÇÖt feel the same,
This year I looked at who I used to be,
Then tried to find her again,

This year I was a hairdresser,
A barber and a vet,
This year we stayed inside for strangers,
Even though weÔÇÖd never met,

This year I cooked and baked,
And made lots of banana bread,
This year we shut the pubs,
And drank beers at home instead,

This year I was a painter,
An illustrator of the mind,
This year I learnt the importance of being extremely kind,

This year I washed my hands until those hands bled,
Wore masks with odd socks, and did facetime quizzes on my bed,

This year I was grateful for all things that I had,
This year I felt lucky to have such a great dad,

This year I was a nurse, ÔÇÿlittle Florence NightingaleÔÇÖ,
This year I grew one year older holding a homemade cocktail,

This year I wrote down everything that came into my head,
Postcards, poetry, letters,
nothing was left unsaid.

This year I clapped on the doorstep,
And thanked the NHS,
This year was really tragic,
This year I really wept,

This year was really trying,
And maybe so will the next,
We sent virtual hugs and kisses, and connected over text,

This year I felt homesick even when I was at home,
This year I felt lucky that I wasnÔÇÖt on my own,

This year I had a break from studying at university,
took on another role at home,
in a time of so much uncertainty,

This year I wore walking boots whilst my heels were on furlough,
Grew green fingers, planted flowers,
sunbathed on the patio,

This year I went running, and had picnics in the park,
Drank mini bottles of prosecco,
getting tipsy 2 metres apart,

This year I spent weeks alone in quarantine,
Tiger King, Netflix,
Picking out outfits for the weekly quiz theme,

The world this year felt like a different place,
One where the mantra was hands, space and face,
This year I even learnt how to drive a car,
Although it was illegal to travel very far,

This year we were a team and connected over the phone,
This year I learnt thereÔÇÖs truly no place like home.

This year was so repetitive,
yet so different from what IÔÇÖd expected,
next year weÔÇÖll take on board the lessons we learnt from when we worked as a collective,

Next year IÔÇÖll be Clara,
Next year IÔÇÖll carry great strength,
Next year IÔÇÖll be a warrior,
And next year maybe IÔÇÖll sit on a bench.