by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Homunculus Explaining to my little man about proportion, he responds with feeling: a picture of daddy with thousands of fingers. Sensory and motor cortex guiding the felt-tip pen, big tongue lolling as he draws. A little man with huge hands,...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
What is this, a family outing? Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him as I open the car door, climb into the front seat, remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe. My brother, aged nine, threading himself through...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2024 | Poetry
Lines He lived next to the funeral home with his three daughters. A cherry picker beeps in the distance. I cannot see it, but I know the light is red. Who brings roses to a funeral? Rain rolls down window glass, but not here, only somewhere in the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The Last Person on Earth I don’t know why I went, I’d already heard about the time a colleague’s husband turned up at the staff barbecue and punched him. We met at The Prince of Wales but he refused to go in because a sixth former was working at...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 7, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
A mother teaches her Neurodiverse child colours What colour is the dog? The dog is brown. Can you see the brown dog? What colour is the cat? The cat is black. Can you see the black cat? What colour is the school? The school is too-bright primary...
