<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Homewrecker and His Pun<\/strong><\/p>\n She has high hopes for her white sauce Her veins grow taut on her forearm She\u2019s positioned her radio by the stove on the first Christmas Day, the angels Her husband comes in, flushed from his walk, He blames the drink for shifting her when she\u2019s seen the b\u00e9chamel burnt to flakes <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Elisabeth Sennitt Clough<\/strong> was born in Ely and now lives in Norfolk with her husband and three children. Her pamphlet Glass<\/em> was a winner in the Paper Swans inaugural pamphlet competition and her debut collection, Sightings<\/em>, is forthcoming from Pindrop Press. Her poems have appeared in The Rialto, Mslexia, Magma, Stand, I,S&T,<\/em> and The Cannons\u2019 Mouth<\/em>. www.elisabethsennittclough.co.uk<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Snow-white<\/strong><\/p>\n I put the pretty comb into my hair, but my cheeks bruised\u00a0 It takes seven of them to paint me, to glaze and tighten almost beautiful again.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Morgaine Merch Lleuad<\/strong> is a poet\/novelist, and lectures in poetry and creative writing at Exeter University and the OU, respectively.\u00a0 Her poetry has been published in various magazines, including Orbis, The Interpreter\u2019s House, Iota, Ink Sweat & Tears <\/em>and The Frogmore Papers.<\/em> Twitter: @bagpussbotherer<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Homewrecker and His Pun She has high hopes for her white sauce this Christmas. The roux glistens from the wash and slap of milk, as she lightens it a ladle at a time. Her veins grow taut on her forearm as she beats the buttery yellow mixture. Droplets hit her skin and […]<\/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":[65],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12892","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-twelve-days-of-christmas-2016"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12892","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=12892"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12892\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":12963,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/12892\/revisions\/12963"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=12892"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=12892"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=12892"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nthis Christmas. The roux glistens
\nfrom the wash and slap of milk,
\nas she lightens it a ladle at a time.<\/p>\n
\nas she beats the buttery yellow mixture.
\nDroplets hit her skin and form small crusts
\namong archipelagos of freckles.<\/p>\n
\nand between songs, the cartoon
\nher daughter\u2019s watching in the living room
\ncompetes with the early morning announcer:<\/p>\n
\npromised peace and good will on Earth.
\nShe downs another sherry, her hand
\nless steady on the wooden spoon.<\/p>\n
\na sprig of mistletoe tucked in his cap.
\nThough his affair happened last Christmas,
\nher eyes stiffen: you whore of a man.<\/p>\n
\ninto the sickness of every woman
\nhe wants to leave behind. She doesn\u2019t make it
\nto dinner and their child is left to wonder why<\/p>\n
\nin the pan, her father tells her don\u2019t go
\nin the bathroom because your mother\u2019s been
\nat the sauce and hurled it all over the floor.<\/p>\n
\nare still apples too long in my basket \u2013 too dry,
\ntoo slackened, darkened and<\/p>\n
\nwith eggwhite and witchhazel, and when I am sealed inside
\nmy glassine coffin, perhaps I will be pale and<\/p>\n