Whalesong

In the concrete tunnel between the library and the theatre

a family of humpback whales dive and glide

through the air, amidst echoing footfalls.

…

The female, pregnant, with her mate and calf,

all suspended on steel cables, bathed in halogen light;

still barnacle-bearded, but with fibreglass torsos ravaged

by time and sun.

…

Children walking past during the day

squeal with delight and echo the whalesong

as it emanates from museum speakers;

…

groaning, keening, howling;

…

sounds not of the earth, but of the depths;

…

where water stifles the light,

and presses an excess of nitrogen

into the blood—

and waits.

…

At night, it’s worse and the dim tunnel

becomes a gauntlet to be shuddered

through, with earphones or gritted teeth.

…

But today, the whales are silent and the feeling is still.

There is only the shuffling of feet and the sun,

drifting in through the tunnel mouth. Suddenly,

the song returns from behind. There,

out of the museum shop, another family:

…

a woman and a man

and a small child,

and the song

…

‘A whale!

A whaaale!

A whale!’

…

And I surface.

…