The first time we met your nurse answered the phone,
And I heard you in the background- you sounded like my grandma- 
I smiled.
Your nurse gave me the address, with that convivial ease that caring people have,
And I felt more invited to a new place than I had for a while.

Passing carefully-kept little gardens edged with Chrysanths,
I came to your weathered wooden gate, 
An elastic bungee rope had been looped to catch it in place,
And I imagined you and your nurse battening down the hatches,
From the howling gales we had a while ago. 

Your shopping in hand, I walked up the concrete path to your bungalow,
I rang the bell and pondered how your second name sounds like a Spanish Seaside town,
And reflected on your request for Chorizo, 
And how it didn’t surprise me on the phone, 
But seemed so incongruous now.

And in this anxious time of viral attack,
With the world searching for a moral narrative,
And people picking at personal psychodramas...
You did not make this about you and I did not make this about me,
But between the shopping lists,
And delivered goods, 
We make one another peaceful.

Dear Liz,
You understood the tremulous delicacy of being alive long before me,
But when all of this is all over, I think we will both fondly remember,
Feeling a connection to a stranger that felt more like family.

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