Jess Murrain
Barn Owl Breaking, Re-making
© Sarah Wormersley
Barn Owl breaking, re-making
looks like a rainy year ahead banshee & who do we thank for this?
you were always there tyto alba 47 million years of body nocturnal heritage printed
as myth & today I’m eight years old bunking my classrooms seeking your wingspan
hot-floating & charged its drinking available light so who’s to say banshee
we are glowing & why you’re so feathered its criminal underneath skeletal & changed
the female the darker swept with four richer brown bars your landscape stripped down
to mere brush it’s difficult to survive when principal prey vanishes it’s we you lost
in an archive a suspended treble gliding in space you are orchestra weightless
screeching your own broken hunt & today I’m eight years old I spot you in the newspaper
the bright morning after I missed my school trip where you apparently perched
on the arm of Fairy an out of work actor living displayed or else waiting for food
in the wild reluctant to leave for two days or three
a dangerous game when outside is wet banshee we
don’t inherit the language of us how to land safely in self when robbed
of nourishment-knowledge we lineage made ‘magical’ interludes trimmed
into folkloric margin by those who claim you as deathly to those whose grassland is grazed shorn down to tradition where no shrew can gather no rodent can hide
dear banshee you don’t need me to speak for your roots once Cuban giant & Caribbean
likely 1.1 metres in height the diasporic as duppy angel to an old weathered evening
we a new species recently added to the roster of birds that once lived in the West Indies
passed down as mystical text a special edition for clever man’s gain this is a trick a damp winter it’s none of man’s business & I’m eight years old turning our heads 135 degrees wishing for you everything a barn a whimsical bothy the rodents the house
a beaten down crypt a safe place to count or to rest or to roost next door lives a pub
where drunkards will stagger
convincing themselves
you are ghostly
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Jess Murrain
Jess Murrain (she/they) is a queer, interdisciplinary creative of British-Caribbean heritage, working across live art, theatre, film and poetry. She is also the co-founder/Artistic Director of Art Wife, an experimental live art company who were recently commissioned by Bradford 2025 City of Culture. She is the winner of the Ledbury Poetry Prize (2021), Out-spoken Prize in Poetry and Film (2023) and Derby Poetry Prize (2025/26). Her pamphlet One Woman-Horse Show is published with Bad Betty Press.
Jess is also fiercely passionate about education, inclusion and equity; often times in collaboration with grassroots collectives and political organising groups, challenging the gatekeepers of power who continue to uphold systematic inequality and societal injustice. Her wider practice includes being a creative writing tutor, creative mentor and workshop facilitator. Jess loves long walks in nature with her family and friends, bird watching and listening to old school hip hop in her headphones.
The Writer