by Helen Ivory | Jul 24, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Ragnarök After Milosz When it comes, and it will, it will come on a plain weekday, perhaps in early spring or autumn, a frowsy day, one that woke late and got dressed in a hurry without care quite forgetting to comb its hair, which anyway got damp in the...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 23, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
The Unmoving I fell asleep by a window and the book slipped through my knees. The ground moved backwards and forwards settled between reference points. The world felt clean, in absolute isolation, a time-capsule sent flying into space. A missile woke me...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 21, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Cursory Sorcery While I wait for you. Late. Again. I pick blue periwinkles to flower my stew, a brew of spider’s legs and cobweb broth to chase away the dusty moths that brave the lamp then fall dead on our starched linen tablecloth. Where were you...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 20, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Impacts It happens next summer when the car in front turns left at the motel sign and a doe notices just in time to blink and a man with a bag of beers looks but doesn’t slow any. Or tonight, when I wake to your naked arm cold and too heavy so my breath...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 19, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
I Love Thinking about you Ducky after Sketch of Hilda and Stanley, 1941 It’s animal, not just an old term of endearment. He even draws himself as a farm bird, pecking distance from her dog-face contentment: a deity for his adoration. And below, on that same...
