‘The hook’, by Sarah Sasson

Our minds latch to narrative,
it’s how we learn, remember, interpret.

I went to hospital to have a baby,
I should’ve returned more, not less.
Subtracted: my ability to rise, walk, move;
In my pelvis, broken bone.

What is the premise?

What is the character’s motivation?

What is the hook?

That feeling: ochre, electric, waist down.

The hook is me on the edge of my bed, listening for my baby.

My doctor: you will probably heal

what if I don’t

things that were part of me: walking, laughing, being in ocean.

My editor draws lines through this section.
[The pacing is slow, nothing happens]

Days are triangles between the bed, the couch, the bathroom.
Pain tethers me; a dog on a rope.

I’m on the bed trying to stand, the collar pulls my neck
to breathe or growl
I watch from the other side of the room how I’m changed.

United Kingdom