<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Butcher’s Wife<\/strong><\/p>\n His hands are white as a princess’s, They are cold, like the petals of lilies, to scour under them.\u00a0 Then he files In the evenings, I sit on the sofa, try not to watch Their movements are as intricate At night, those hands are on me. I dream of skeins of bunnies, the sides <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Kitty Coles<\/strong> has been writing since she was a child but only submitting her work for publication in the last few years.\u00a0 Her poems have appeared in magazines including Mslexia, Iota, The Interpreter’s House, Obsessed With Pipework <\/em>and South<\/em>. Website:\u00a0 www.kittyrcoles.com\u00a0 <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Butcher’s Wife His hands are white as a princess’s, or milk, so the network of veins shows through as clear as a blueprint. They are cold, like the petals of lilies, marble-cool. The nails are kept short. He uses a brutal brush to scour under them.\u00a0 Then he files them smooth as […]<\/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-8879","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8879","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=8879"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8879\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8881,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8879\/revisions\/8881"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8879"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8879"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8879"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nor milk, so the network of veins
\nshows through as clear as a blueprint.<\/p>\n
\nmarble-cool. The nails are kept short.
\nHe uses a brutal brush<\/p>\n
\nthem smooth as shells.\u00a0 They are pink
\nlike sweeties, like fondant, like blushing brides.<\/p>\n
\nthose hands constructing exquisite butterflies
\nfrom origami paper, one after another.<\/p>\n
\nas ballet, caress the paper, gentle as a lover.
\nEach fold precise, in its own way, as surgery.<\/p>\n
\nThey smell like blood, a rusty vehemence
\ninfecting the heat of the bedroom.<\/p>\n
\nof cows, the skin peeled off,
\nthose hands parting my ribs.<\/p>\n