by Helen Ivory | Mar 2, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Smoky Mother chain-smoked, leaving lipsticked butts in plastic ashtrays, where they sent up wisps for hours. Now, wildfires out west blow their dark clouds of sadness eastward to muddy the skies over Lake Michigan that used to be blue. I...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 1, 2022 | Reviews
From the Welsh Diaspora Bread without Butter Bara heb Fenyn explores the cultural and emotional heritage of poet Wendy French, raised in England whose mother immigrated from Wales as...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 1, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Mucky fingers A wild daffodil bulb wilts at my feet dug up by a dog. I scrape my fingers into the loam, resettle it in the riverbank. At twilight, two children crouch over a fish – it flaps on the path. There! the boy digs into the wound with his...
