by Helen Ivory | May 13, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Tzedaka box On Friday nights I slipped a coin through the thin lips of the blue box. It was satisfying to hear it clatter ; I could feed the tin but not myself. Sally Michaelson is a recently retired Conference Interpreter living in...
by Helen Ivory | May 12, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Today everything is on fire & it’s dangerous the wind claws crimson back & forth running across grass trees catch leaves ember & cinders *** I pray please rain save some green there’s a grasshopper poised for flight at the bottom of...
by Helen Ivory | May 11, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Where you took me I had never cut my fingernails; would only retouch occasional casualties – cracks on thumbs, hooks on index fingers, too long witch-like pinkies. Not once did I sit down with a pair of tiny curved scissors to trim down all ten....
by Helen Ivory | May 10, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Cold Cream If there’s a record for the consumption of celluloid, you’ve made it a life goal to break and, of course, there is a record for everything on the planet from smallest fish consumed by a tiger to most daffodils snorted by a Catholic...
by Helen Ivory | May 9, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
what is missing is touch — is cotton to wool, sheer to slub is holding hands is hug — forms moulding each to each, body to body rise to hollow what is missing is skin warm against cool, is the cheek-scuff of familiar stubble is rough sunbrown...
