Redell Olsen, Mixed Media Collage, 2020.
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We have leaflets through the door to explain what we must do.
Most of us will find a safe place like the underside of a broken piece of furniture or the inside of some packaging from the last of the deliveries.
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Although we have eyelids this is not the equivalent of sleep.
Quiescent cusps of holding.
Once we become so we have a long, curled proboscis, which is like a soft drinking straw.
Our jaws are gone.
We creep into the foliage of our beds or hang upside down on the sofa in front of the rolling news until we are called to our screens to explain why our productivity rate has dropped.
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We follow strict rules at all times unsure if anyone is watching.
We have our eyes open but miss the most obvious things, like birthdays, glasses and friends.
Some people do not wish to be called.
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We remain still in the same spot for hours until a raindrop or a memory strikes with the force of a water balloon thrown from an upstairs window by someone who is now just out of sight.
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An accurate likeness of the suspect is impossible. to pinpoint.
There is a clapping and a knocking together of pans. Our neighbour puts up a poster in her window to point out some of the hypocrisy involved.
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Our opinions are not needed. We are useless, experts of nothing in particular.
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