DEEP SLEEP

Deep Sleep

9 July in the year 1545; Sinking of Mary Rose

You enraged the abscess 
in your diseased mouth 
with salted fish
as word passed through gun crews 
of French galleys in the Solent.

The pride of King Henry 
fortress of the seas
becalmed, immobile, 
outmanoeuvred
by oarsmanship.

Laying down your spoon
you made haste to your cannon
awaiting orders
looking into the eyes of virtue;
each jack a diamond.

As orders echoed along the deck
shared anticipation and fear
culminated in deafening explosions 
recoiling carriages
choking smoke
and black faced cheers.

Meanwhile up top 
a moderate breeze picked up,
sails gathered oxygen
allowing seamanship to counter
with orders to come about.

Looking out 
you saw the horizon shifting
as water rushed in 
‘close starboard gunports’ 
was the call
though already waist deep
only escape remained.

The ship became a cullender
listing to starboard 
as objects slid
crushing the fortunate.

Instinctively you swam
toward the port side,
cracked your skull 
on the rolling deckhead,
collided with a drowning man 
and was dragged down.

You could just make out 
shipmates trapped below,
their cries replaced 
by briny gurgles.

You frantically rose 
into a small pocket of air
sucked in your final breath 
and held it 
slowly bidding farewell 
with all memory lost.

The ship sank in minutes,
over four hundred mariners
floating between decks
in an eerie aquatic dance
to an audience of thousands.

Now, hundreds of years past,
I look through the glass
knowing you were there, 
cos they found your bones
your bowl
your spoon.