Mudlark

Written after mudlarking in a sandy crook of the Thames - this poem recounts the creation of the installation, that piece creating the performance, and me running around doing the bidding of both.

For Daisy Wang, curator, Subterranean Organ. April, 2023, London

It’s not how I pictured it, collecting bits of you.

…the morning stretching out endlessly,

Jeans rolled, cuffed at the calf, toes turning white in the prickly, broken-bottled sand, sun on my shoulders

Squatting down

The rough rolling away under the tips of my fingers

Revealing a small, white bow…