Slipping<\/strong><\/p>\n She has eight days to check each morning\u2019s haul, to claim her own. With a viewing hatch. Thin morning light from the high, round window Dripping, plangent on the echoing tiles, and sliced on In the sucking mud. Her heart leaps like a fish, slapping on board, Shakes her head to the mortuary keeper and walks out, blinking From a ship moored in the shallow water. Sailors leap, music-hall acrobats, <\/p>\n Elaine Ewart<\/a> came 2nd in the main category<\/a> of the NCLA’s Water Poetry Competition 2012<\/a>.<\/p>\n The NCLA Water Poetry Competition was judged by W.N. Herbert <\/a>and John Burnside<\/a>. The ceremony was held at Northern Stage<\/a> on 23rd February 2012<\/a>.<\/p>\n Photographs of the event can be viewed here<\/a>.<\/p>\n
\nEvery week, since his boat sailed up the Thames to Rotherhithe
\nWithout him on it, she is escorted to a bare, grey room<\/p>\n
\nFalls on the swollen faces, displayed like butchers\u2019 wares. It\u2019s not so bad.
\nThey have been drained overnight, hanging from an iron hook,<\/p>\n
\nA green marble slab, to determine cause of death: Infectious,
\nOr Non-Infectious. She sees the first man has lost a shoe<\/p>\n
\nSo that at first, eyes watering with looking, she does not see that she
\nDoes not know these men, either. It is not so bad, she tells herself;<\/p>\n
\nOnto the quay. Wheels turn on cobbles; dockers call to each other
\nLike courting owls. A fresh cargo of timber is disgorged<\/p>\n
\nBetween the bobbing logs and, in her mind, she sees her husband
\nIn the air. She sees him slip, and not slip. Blindly, she watches.<\/p>\n