<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
A Fish Hook (Barbed)<\/strong><\/p>\n The wardrobe is shut tight, the latch awkward Her fingers touch the jacket first: wool-worn, limp, loose, a useless thing.\u00a0 It smells of rain Reaching for his pocket feels like theft, of coarse fish, open, where his thumb has turned a litany of names, like Adam\u2019s roll call, She holds it close, puzzling its form: exotic bird; <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Lynne Caddick<\/strong>, originally from West Yorkshire, currently lives in a small village in Cheshire.\u00a0 She belongs to the Shrewsbury Stanza Group, and attends the Whitchurch Bookshrop Poetry Group and Nantwich Speakeasy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A Fish Hook (Barbed) The wardrobe is shut tight, the latch awkward as she lifts it, up and over the rusted catch. Her fingers touch the jacket first: wool-worn, fraying at the seam. The arm across her shoulder limp, loose, a useless thing.\u00a0 It smells of rain and nettles \u2013 the river where […]<\/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":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15267","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15267","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=15267"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15267\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15269,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15267\/revisions\/15269"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15267"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15267"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15267"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nas she lifts it, up and over the rusted catch.<\/p>\n
\nfraying at the seam. The arm across her shoulder<\/p>\n
\nand nettles \u2013 the river where he\u2019d listened for the trout.<\/p>\n
\na spying on his river-watch.\u00a0 She finds the book<\/p>\n
\nthe waxy page:\u00a0 barbel, bleak, bream,<\/p>\n
\nstewarding new life.
\n.
\nThe second pocket stabs her, a finger hooked
\nby metal, hiding in the feathers of the fly.<\/p>\n
\na scarlet moth; a question mark?<\/p>\n