Write-up draft

tap 

tap 

break into my silence 

The substation 

The Jubilee line 

The constant rattling growl 

When I hear helicopters 

I think how travel has changed over the past five centuries and how 

the people buried here could never have imagined such things 

Tap 

Tap 

Metal voices outside the wall 

Her voice 

Two voices 

Where are you all? 

I remember the emotion I felt 

The very first time I encountered Crossbones 

I was overwhelmed with sadness and anger 

for the people who had been used and abused throughout their lives 

and showed so little respect at death 

drone 

voices 

trains 

remember 

thousands of souls 

dropped into their cold, cold graves 

feel them here 

I think of how our winters don’t come near those of times before industrialisation started 

Even in the early 1800s, the Thames would freeze over 

December’s chill 

Toes numb by the end 

Nothing changes. Everything changes. 

Who walked there? Who looked out of the windows? 

Time stands still at the edge of the city / the boundaries of the garden become blurred 

Mobile memories hanging there 

to an unborn pauper child 

a robin in and out of the cedar tree 

Blue tits flitting 

scent of rosemary 

Rosemary for remembrance 

shadows and light and colour flurry around my senses 

Remembering my mother 

who died quite young after a tough, sad life 

and hoping she’s at peace 

It’s said that a robin is the spirit of someone who’s passed, which is fitting for Crossbones 

Even though I don’t believe in an afterlife 

I do believe that people leave a kind of spirit behind, and I feel some of her spirit at Crossbones 

Interlocking shadows 

A gentle southerly breeze 

Wind moving the tree branches 

And skittering the leaves 

Then I remember a perfume 

Burning by the statue 

Sending my thoughts to an ecclesiastical place 

And maybe right back to the contradictions of the garden’s original founder 

I rejected Catholicism and all religion as a teenager 

The scent of incense therefore upset me 

And I had to move out of range 

Church bells 

Memories 

leaves are falling fast 

Words washed away with 

Your possible pasts 

The feel and smell of our own homemade 

compost, in its various stages 

takes me back to my grandmother’s garden 

And makes me feel contented 

Do you remember me? 

How we used to be? 

Vibrant blue sky 

The harsh sound of a seagull soaring above 

And the sound of a frog croaking 

I feel some sadness at Crossbones, but above all, 

empathy. 

Your grief 

Your space 

Woven history 

Memories and sounds reveal my mystery 

R. I. P.