Mona Baptiste, Mermaid Remix

The people of the Windrush generation were not faced with the warm 

welcome that they had expected. These new arrivals were subjugated to 

colour bars, housing discrimination and outright hostility. Many from 

that generation talk about the infamous signs on rented accommodation 

and pubs: ‘no blacks, no dogs, no Irish’.

— Bristol Museums 

What if Mona Baptiste had gills instead of lungs,

scales instead of skin, when she journeyed 

the Empire Windrush? Imagine her voice, 

bubbling up from the ocean’s crushing depths 

to vibrate the bones of startled fishermen. 

She’d slip into the Thames a sleek intruder, 

her tail slapping out Calypso’s two-three clave

against the river’s sluggish pulse. London’s fog

would cling to her slick hair, a veil of grey

she’d shake off with each emerging note.

At night, in smoky clubs, she’d coil around mic stands, 

scales tucked beneath shimmering gowns,

hiding her secret self. Her song would salt the air;

everyone would taste brine on their tongues, 

feel the pull of a tide they’d never known. 

And maybe, in this remix, the detached 

stares of strangers and patrons would melt away, 

replaced by wide-eyed wonder. Maybe Mona, 

with pearl-flecked cheeks and coral-tinged lips,

could make a home in these strange waters.

▶︎ •၊၊| Sonic pairing: Mona Baptiste, Calypso Blues