14 JULY 2007, Page 29

The Cry

Not the primeval cry that comes straight from the gut in that grotesque of notes that curdles you sick — but the saddest of sobs, the silent-bled cry where the face still contorts and the water careers — with no din of a whimper no snivel, no whine, when God steals the remote and mutes off the sound.

Rhian Edwards