Laura Lewis-Waters
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the poet
Secondary school English teacher Laura Lewis-Waters gave birth to her first son during the UK's COVID-19 lockdown. Small wonder then that motherhood, mental health and traumatic birth feature prominently in her writing. Laura also researches poetry as a means to raise awareness of rising sea levels; her forthcoming collection, Where Sea Meets Sea, will explore the changing East Anglia coastline through writing both confessional and imagined, as well as verbatim. Laura's debut chapbook, Bathroom Prisoners, was born in May 2022. Her second collection, Beneath the Light, arrived in March 2023.
the poems
The Faceless Lady
at Covehithe
She waits near the edge. Wind catching
at her white linen dress. She waits
for the fishermen to tread the headland toward her.
They’ll come at low tide to the morlog,
to the sand and shingle banks for their bass and their sole.
And she’ll call to them. Wondering
why recognition then fear always flits across their features.
They’re too close to the edge again.
In the dawn, mist rises off the broads.
They don’t hear the cliffs sigh and let go.
They don’t hear her moan.
She retreats to St Andrew’s. A boy in a red bobble hat
weaves himself through tumbling arches
around graves on their seaward tilt
as though ready to go back.
Every William –
every John –
every sailor –
every fisherman.
The sea was hungry this year.
But she’ll not let her Matryoshka home fall.
Somewhere a baby cries,
or perhaps it is the wind or sea martins.
The bobble hat has disappeared. She hopes
the church still stands on its return.
From the tower she watches
the cliff crumble and creep
inward. She cries into the night, but nobody comes.
They stay away on moonless nights
when milk and mist mingle.
The babies are hungry.
Come morning she waits by the edge,
her face as flat and featureless as the sea
while the fishermen’s wives hang their linen out to dry.
Haze-bruh
The sea gives and the sea takes
and when it takes, it is with fire
it threads itself in sky, lets the
air ride its brackish back like a
thousand battle-driven horses
charging to reclaim
township, it is all the elements
knotted together; double sheet bend
against farmer country.
Sometimes it crawls up unnoticed
lapping up sand with unquenchable
thirst, a love too strong
for stratified silt.
One winter, the sea devoured
two bungalows; the bells
of a 14th century stone church
destined to toll beneath the waves.
Its wilding rampage on yellow gorse-
lined path wind-whips the tower;
north-westerly, chipping at
field-boys’ teeth at teatime.
Another winter, it tucked away
four houses, shop and bakery
overnight its briny breath
inhaling more than flat margin brown
its craggy sigh raking
shrinking cliff top and
painting the silty clay horizon where
the sea gives, and the sea takes takes.
Living with someone
else’s anxiety
is adopting it as your own
it’s realising you have counted
black linoleum squares 1,000 times
sat on the bathroom floor incapable
of standing up.
It is learning magic tricks the way you learnt
to ride a bike, slowly, painfully,
rituals that have to be adhered to
a couple a day at first until every little task
that keeps you alive is riddled with them –
it’s turning the tap on off on off just because
you brushed your teeth
and always stepping into a room with your right foot
because if you don’t you’ll never conceive.
It is being your own failure
you feel selfish for acknowledging
because you are the ‘normal’ one, the unmedicated one,
reassurance that asbestos is not in the
crumbling Artex one.
It is filling in the gaps in the grout
so one day the house can be sold as a show home
when all you really want is to fall down
those little hollows.
It is slamming doors, crying,
collecting swimming certificates faster than anyone
around you, legs growing tired, throbbing
beneath the water.
It is befriending magnolia walls because
your husband, best friend, sister, colleague
are the ones that need you.
Publishing credits
The Faceless Lady at Covehithe:
exclusive first publication by iamb
Haze-bruh: Trees, Seas & Attitude (Black Cat Poetry Press)
Living with someone else’s anxiety: Bathroom Prisoners
(Written Off Publishing)