a name for the nameless

 a name for the nameless

they called her ‘the whore’

still call her that

 

it is a word passed down

special word for her

black sheep name

black shame

 

it was far far ago

just here

 

because knowing where you’re from

is knowing what you’re not

 

we’re not that anymore

no one has to be now

 

these things are passed down

 

and the oh so serious disgrace, dishonour

becomes a legend

then legend becomes a joke

 

there’s no other fact

no photograph

there’s no face to remember

 

almost a century

since the whore

and this disdain

is passed down

 

father to daughter

mother to son

 

just this one thing to remember of her

this stain of bastard making

 

no one is less than this

 

it’s funny how stories are passed on in families

we know the past to know who we are

 

should one look into the records

raped at thirteen it transpires

and then this half life

lived for a curse

 

no record of the man

who no doubt lived a life without stain

 

served his country, family too

later he must have beaten a wife

or perhaps he became a good man?

 

nor shall we speak his name

perhaps it’s on a cenotaph

and everyone so proud?

 

you won’t find the connection with the crime

 

far far ago

nor our shame now

we don’t have a name

 

they’ll say things were different in such a time

 

no one is less than she was

 

without her life though

where would we be?

 

is anyone more to their descendants?

 

I write these words

in our day and age

just to honour her

 

and if I don’t, who will?

 

my duty here and now