<\/p>\n
Re-stringing the Boy<\/strong><\/p>\n It takes hours. We move from socket to socket The way he came on stage the other day, just slumped in, One by one we cut the threads, untie him , But someone carved him into shape, he cannot make himself happen, it is all in your imagining, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Louise Warren<\/strong> has been widely published in magazines . Her first collection ( A child\u2019s last picture book of the Zoo<\/em>) and pamphlet (In the scullery with John Keats<\/em>) are both published by Cinnamon Press. She lives in London.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Re-stringing the Boy It takes hours. We move from socket to socket unknotting his spine, the droop in his shoulders, those loose dangling hands. The way he came on stage the other day, just slumped in, hardly lifting his head. I had to jerk the main string tighter and tighter until he almost cracked. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[135,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12090","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-2016-poetry-picks","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12090","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=12090"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12090\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12684,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12090\/revisions\/12684"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12090"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12090"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12090"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nunknotting his spine, the droop in his shoulders,
\nthose loose dangling hands.<\/p>\n
\nhardly lifting his head. I had to jerk the main string
\ntighter and tighter until he almost cracked.<\/p>\n
\nuntil he is free of us, our meddling fidgeting hands.
\nIf he could, if he had a soul, he could walk out right now<\/p>\n
\ninvented the colour of his eyes, that same unchanging expression
\nblank as a reflection cast in a puddle, forget him,<\/p>\n
\nhe is nothing without our breath, see how he drags his bones now.<\/p>\n