Poetry Map of Scotland: poem no. 407

T H A N E Y 

for Dominique, for Thaney

It was your own damn body
they flung you off,
the dafties in charge.
Did they not know
who you were; you who were
never going to die?
You, girl,
shouldering your environment –
marking hearts onto boulders
as you tumulted your way
to the ground.
Thaney loves,
Thaney loves…

One for the ages.
A monument of sorts, for what
was yet to come. You –
arriving by river, girl; swinging
full-bellied on the back of a sea-bird,
ambition flickering on salted mirror.
You who fly through holy nets of ritual –
golden seams gone silted and
airless hills – you knew that.
You always knew –
it was all just wailing and bells.
The marks they’ll never see.
And your own body so full of breath –
underground, reachable as an open
secret that tells you where to land.
So that you remain, needless and
uncommanded. Your coracle
of peach-skin, leaving sin on the shore
for the other ones – voices all fearty
and grave; plateaued and far, far
away now that you’re free. 

Rebecca Sharp 

Note: Traprain Law is where St Thaney / Thenew / Teneu, later St Enoch - was flung off as punishment for being pregnant (with St Mungo).

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