What if Ted Hughes was a woman? The sort of poetry he’d write would, I imagine, be like Laura Wainwright’s who has the same kind of intensity. An earthy buzz riven with a metallic tang. Rhymes pervade but without getting in the way and there’s a definite modernist vibe to this collection. Nature is redolent in poems about floods, allotments, wasps, swimming in the sea and even about the very air we breathe. I have read and reread some of these poems out loud, basking in them, wanting again and again the hit of their intoxicating lingualism.