Rockpooling
Above the ice, another me inhales
the ocean air. She still believes
that she’s visible, women’s
tongues are an organ and Ophelia
woke from her watery nap. Since my pain
grew greedy, another me has been trapped
under ice, sealed in a rock pool
like a foal waiting to be delivered
dripping, like a creature from the deep.
On the ceiling of condensation, I trace
a window so I can watch the sky
warp through the water.
My sunset hair tugs in the current, wrapping
around anemones before tangling
in my breath. The skin on my fingers begins
to wrinkle as if preparing to scuttle away
like the shell-less hermit crab
who is seeking refuge between my toes.
I call from my rockpool, pushing
the fish into flight, but only the other
me can catch my words- read me.
I imagine someone hears the sand
grains knock against each other. That they
smash the ice into cave men’s
flints, plunge their hands into the bitter water,
pull me from this spaceman’s sack.
My tongue’s beached under salt
my words too heavy to float, so
I’m waiting in my rockpool
for someone to stomp on the ice.
Description
In ‘Rockpooling’, I explore the battle to be heard as a young woman living with chronic illness. During the pandemic, the move to a more digitalised word made my work and studies more accessible. However, I didn’t feel that the digitalised world increased the representation of young women with chronic illnesses. Whilst we could communicate virtually with other individuals living with similar experiences, we were not being seen or heard by wider society. In the poem, I explore the metaphor of the rockpool as a self-contained microcosm where the self with the chronic illness is trapped. Just as with filter bubbles on the internet, the world outside the rockpool would fail to see the world contained in the rockpool as they would see themselves reflected on the surface of the water, missing the narrative voice’s lived experiences below.
In my experience, young women with chronic illnesses are often alienated, stigmatised and not believed. Through art, we can fill the void where our experiences should be represented and call on our readers to empathise and to listen to us. In ‘Rockpooling’, I invite the reader to ‘read me’ and to share in the experience of being disorientated and trapped by a world who doesn’t hear or see you. However, it is not enough to read and see us. We collectively need to ‘stomp on the ice’.
Contact
Handleyba@cardiff.ac.uk
Instagram- @scoutforculture
Twitter- @bethany1handley
cddwales2021.co.uk 