<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Warkworth<\/strong><\/p>\n The pelt drags me across sand like a drown animal. buried by tides. I almost missed it – a packet of pills to the fur of pondlife, stroke dulse- a strap water and shadow a snakeskin boot on my feet. <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Angela Readman<\/strong> is a twice-shortlisted winner of the Costa Short Story Award. Her debut story collection Don\u2019t Try This at Home<\/i> was published by And Other Stories in 2015. It won The Rubery Book Prize and was shortlisted in the Edge Hill Short Story Prize. She also writes poetry, and her collection The Book of Tides<\/i> was published by Nine Arches in 2016. Her first novel Something Like Breathing<\/i> will be published next year.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Face<\/strong><\/p>\n who is that young women over there <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Sue Hubbard<\/strong> is an award-winning poet, novelist and art critic. She has published 3 collections of poetry, two novels and a book of short stories. As the Poetry Society\u2019s Public Art Poet she was responsible for London\u2019s largest public art poem at Waterloo.\u00a0 Sue Hubbard’s latest novel, Rainsongs<\/em>, was published in January 2018 by Duckworth.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Vicissitude<\/strong><\/p>\n Part of me\u2019s <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Tristan Moss<\/strong> lives in York with his partner and two young children. He has recently had poems published in The Poetry Shed, Antiphon, Snakeskin, Amaryllis, Lighten Up Online, Open Mouse, Picaroon Poetry <\/em>and Algebra of Owls.<\/em><\/p>\n First published in Now Then<\/em> (Sheffield arts and culture magazine)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Warkworth The pelt drags me across sand like a drown animal. I walk miles, eyes fixed on Birling Carrs, a lime light of seaweed and coal. Birds nesting in cliff face , a chorus stuck in a skull. I didn\u2019t know what was here, buried by tides. I almost missed it – a […]<\/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-17493","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17493","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=17493"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17493\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17541,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17493\/revisions\/17541"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17493"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17493"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17493"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI walk miles, eyes fixed on Birling Carrs, a lime light
\nof seaweed and coal. Birds nesting in cliff face ,
\na chorus stuck in a skull. I didn\u2019t know what was here,<\/p>\n
\nat nineteen, another at thirty, yet I\u2019m here.
\nSalt-slapped and grit toothed, sea glass in pocket,
\na blister pack of rock pools in my hand. I kneel<\/p>\n
\nbright enough to tie me to this moment alone.
\nThe sun steals a peek of itself laid on the ground.
\nI sit with it a while. Lichen observing me breathe,<\/p>\n
\nSnippets of rock pipits popped in my mouth,
\nI suck an almost song and head back.<\/p>\n
\nhalf-hidden behind a mask\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 bubbles
\nof saliva coating her dry lips \u00a0 \u00a0 little hairs
\nsprouting from her chin thinking
\nshe\u2019s still the person she\u2019s meant to be
\nwhy is she stitching her skin
\ninto neat pleats and pouches to tuck
\ndiscretely behind her ears so no one
\ncan see her thin mouth sutured with fear
\nthe smell of age on her like the stinking breath
\nof a dog \u00a0 \u00a0 the pelt between her crotch
\ngoing bald
\ndis-gust-ing
\nwho would want to touch something
\nso dirty\u00a0 \u00a0 so broken\u00a0 \u00a0 puddle their fingers
\nin those dried up holes\u00a0 \u00a0 that patch of psoriasis
\nbetter turn a blind eye\u00a0 \u00a0 tell her to take off
\nthat ridiculous disguise \u00a0 \u00a0 it\u2019s a silly game anyway
\ne -m -b -a -r -a -s -I -n -g
\npull back the curtain\u00a0 \u00a0 wipe up the spilt pee
\nshow some decorum\u00a0 \u00a0 some
\ncon-sid-er-a-tion
\nthat\u2019s quite enough now<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\none of those picturesque villages
\nthat\u2019s stayed the same
\nfor strangers,
\nwho have no interest
\nin nearby places
\nthat had to change.<\/p>\n