by Helen Ivory | Feb 2, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Her Mother Quizzes Her About Fruit She says, Yes, I’ve tasted pomegranates and I know what they do. The sense of vertigo: happily dizzy at first, as if you’ve downed a bottle of Shiraz or Merlot. You live by night, dress like a Goth; dark bars and...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 1, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
With Grandad gone I had the back of the car to myself, listed the seven counties Dad drove us through every year, three of us boxed on the leather seats. How did we get there, all in one day? Under the gear stick, tarmac in view, open to puddles...
