<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Glass Houses<\/strong><\/p>\n The gardener\u2019s breath comes quick, her movements slow Last, lifting up a bottle, turns the tap Thin shoulders form a frown, she lifts the weight Counting to three, she satisfies each plant <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Vicky Ellis<\/strong> lives on the wet edge of Lancashire. Her poetry fluctuates between toilet humour and a poorly disguised desire to be middle class. \u00a0She has won an award and a few prizes but isn’t sure what to do with them.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Glass Houses The gardener\u2019s breath comes quick, her movements slow with fingers dry as moths she trims dead leaves and gathers blackened seeds then tests her grit, one finger in each pot Last, lifting up a bottle, turns the tap a hollow drumbeat thump of heavy water, rushing through the neck a grumble […]<\/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-6742","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6742","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=6742"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6742\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6869,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6742\/revisions\/6869"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6742"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6742"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6742"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nwith fingers dry as moths
\nshe trims dead leaves and gathers blackened seeds
\nthen tests her grit, one finger in each pot<\/p>\n
\na hollow drumbeat thump
\nof heavy water, rushing through the neck
\na grumble that recedes the more she runs<\/p>\n
\nbetween the knotted twine
\nabove pine shelves\u2019 corpse flies and dusty cracks,
\nsharp scent of sulphur, rust and broken vines<\/p>\n
\nthen reaches for her glass
\nshe drains it once then tops it up again
\nburl fingers on a chest like girdled grass.<\/p>\n