Wading into the River Thames
Houston, TX
2025, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
At low tea, I wade along the banks
Of this land’s fi rst mirror, nesting-
The world’s weathered palm in mine as
I wrestle with the water’s unyielding current
And tread through mucked mud.
I, an overgrown child sift for loot,
Marveling at Czech glass buried under wire netting, whilst
Rubbing my thumb against a gilded Belgian sword that
No longer glimmers like the petite doll spoons used to.
I cup a ribbed 1800s arsenic bottle that
One moment ago I swore was another cobalt
Penny ink. No drops left.
Like a seam to taut to hold,
The pale sky hangs open
Faintly recognizing objects buried in time.
As gulls circle into a fi st above me,
My refl ection fractures like the beer bottles I step on.
Eyes fl owering into sweaty butter-melt bronzed skin,
I faun over reeled silk that
Frayed with the wavelets.
I kneel at the shore, the silt disturbed by my presence,
The surface threading my refl ection onto its face-my eyes
Sloping with the current. Outnumbered by cattails, I fi nd
My shimmering face, met with a diff erent artifact,
Rivaling the abundance of Greek busts.
The tide cools my palms through the wetsuit
Outstretched toward a grocery bag
Intertwined with the duckweed.
In this brackish body,
Shards of memory rest.
History surfaces sharp-edged, barely mine
Despite my inventory.
We inherit what we off ered back.
Reflection
I first encountered the British practice of mudlarking through Instagram – watching a woman wading knee-deep into the River Thames, extracting historical remnants. Intrigue quickly developed into obsession. As each object revealed glimpses into past generations, the river – which once seemed like just another polluted waterway – became stranger and more sacred. I realized this rippling museum held a living archive. As I researched further, mudlarking transformed from a curiosity into something I saw as creative, historical, and ecological. What fascinated me most was the craftsmanship behind the items sleeping in London’s foreshore. When I wrote “Wading into the River Thames, 2025,” I strove to capture the intimacy between society and the natural world. Unlike simply watching a documentary or supporting ecological movements on social media, searching through muck and silt while mudlarking becomes a form of true listening, one that requires physical immersion in nature. But alongside this beautiful relationship, I find dissonance when realizing that today’s artifacts – mass-produced plastic wrappers and grocery bags, screen-shattered cell phones – have abandoned the societal respect for materials and labor we once held. Through writing this piece, I came to understand the river not only as a living archive of history that preserves the beauty and individuality of times past, but also as a reflection of our ecological footprint, and ultimately our permanence. The river offers a collection of forgotten lives and objects waiting to show us what we’ve left behind – and what future generations will inherit. Above all, creating this poem empowered me to connect more deeply with a place that mirrors the waterways of my own home in Houston. Our rivers, too, are murky with what we’ve forgotten, what we’ve chosen to discard. In writing, I wade into that tension – between self and environment. It’s there I found both grief and awe.