Tayla Richardson - The String that goes Unseen

2026 Hot Desk Extract

As part of The Wheeler Centre’s Hot Desk Fellowship program, Tayla Richardson worked on her interdisciplinary poetry memoir entitled The String that goes Unseen. This collection follows the thread linking fractured memories of a young woman’s growth through ‘survival mode’, to grieving and thriving in a body that weakens and paralyses with movement. Interlacing free verse, experimental and concrete poetry, with visual art and film. 

This poem and companion short film ANTEROOM lay at the hinge point of the manuscript, a transitional entryway, in which time moves differently.

Lost in the echo between beats. Silence pulsating, pounding 
the inner ears. We linger in this rhythmic pause, automatic 
anatomic, inhospitable to patience. Marshmallow 
walls stare blankly, sickly sticky primed 
to dissolve me as we sink into the sea

of chairs, weighted with anticipation
peeling from vinyl concaved by a longer than 
intended stay. Collectively pretending we don’t hear 
the whispered sobs, the frantic calls, that pierce the antiseptic 
air like acid rain, smothering mumbled sitcom repeats. Give them 

a sense of normalcy, a distraction. Give them company. Give them 
incessant instrumental music that itch nerves already frayed. We 
fidget with the ache of stagnation, arms crossed comforting 
the lonely. Chins drooped gazing at phones, at floors, 
at shoes; work boots, high tops, Jimmy Choos. 
Lined up, like we have our ducks in a row
when we all know if you’re here
your ducks have flown the coop.

Flickering fluorescents hum 
filtering mirages through floaters 
as we count tiles, trace lines, re-tracing 
steps of masked figures through a labyrinth of
unmarked doors. Recirculating breath breeds hunger for
uncontaminated air, misleading the parched. I can fast no longer.   

I compartmentalise, dislocating myself into parts, expanding my 
reach until my fingertips graze the corner of this page in hopes
to one day turn it myself. The chapter would read: 
the before. Before what, I’m still unsure.