Iridescence: a vigil

This poetic story was inspired by mudlarking on the River Thames followed by stumbling upon on Crossbones nearby- an old burial ground for medieval sex workers (‘Winchester Geese’) licensed (by the Bishop of Winchester) to work outside the law of the City of London.

I performed it in 2022 as spoken word at an art show in a east London church where I noticed memorials to men who died in the world wars.

Burial

Tomb of the unknown men

Where is my father?
Where is my son?
They never came home.
In Westminster Abbey
Maybe
Lie their bones.
From a Belgium mass grave of First World War
Church bells tolled
Coffin at French shore.
Bugle cried a final farewell: soldier, at ease
Honourable discharge, now rest in peace.
Nineteen gun salute at English coast
Crowds stood haunted as a silent ghost.
Buried where flowers get laid by royal brides
A funeral for all, for national pride.
Never forgotten, shall always remember
Sacrificed for king and country.
The guests: all women who had lost their men
Cried a nation’s tears: please god, never again.

Womb of the unknown women

Where is my mother?
Where is my daughter?
They never came home.
In Southwark
Maybe
At Crossbones.
Outlaw spirit at city limit
Brothels at the gates of hell
Bishop licensed sin on Thames shore
Geese, his unfortunate whores.
Geese because of goosebumps: slang for sexual disease
Unhonourable discharge whereever men pleased.
Mistresses hiss:
‘Silver's how I get paid if you need to get laid
Buy my body, sell your soul
I’ll mend you broken man, make you feel whole.’
Honking and bonking in London’s pleasure garden of earthly delights
Forbidden a christian burial
No right to sacred rites.
Dumped
In unholy ground.
Sacrificed for king and cuntry
Now a living shrine to the outcast dead.
Always remembered, never forgotten:
The disgraced
The wretched
The rotten.

Decomposition

While mudlarking on river bank
Glimmer prism where glass had sank
Into acidic soil.
Centuries of leaching.
It’s surface:
Dissolved
Flaked
Sharded.
Once plain
Now ugliness discarded.
Iris, goddess of the rainbow
Had blessed this reject so it could glow.

Cloth wrapped corpse in wooden coffin.
Death digested
New life begins.
Like caterpillars spin silky cocoons
In which they dissolve into soupy ooze.
Wait!
New body parts start to emerge.
Shhhhh!
A creature ready to burst.
Look!
Geese
Undergoing metamorphosis.
Radiant blue butterfly
Camouflaged wings against the sky.

Resurrection

These stories of anonymity are profound
Their transformation occurs not below
But above the ground.
Nobody’s son or nobody’s father
Nobody’s daughter or nobody’s mother
Becomes:
Anybody’s
Everybody’s
Families.

One day, we, too, shall die
Death makes us equal.
Where we all become outcasts
Forgotten people.
So let us consecrate:
The whory glory!
Honk!
And hiss!
Let’s honour their death
But celebrate our new life.
Today is spring birth after pregnant winter.
Then- hibernation
Now- rejuvenation.
Take the blossom to your bosom
And let’s toast to the iridescent force
Raise your glasses:
Grey goose vodka, of course!