by Helen Ivory | Apr 27, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Grapes When I talk to you about making love I am talking about how two people reach toward each other — within the limits of what their bodies will allow — and attempt to withstand the forces that would pull them apart from one another...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 26, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Salting the skin The sea becomes the colour of whale skin & chalk. Hanging on a day, abandoned by the chalk light. A worm moon left its portrait under the drifting ebb, sketched in ridges by the salt-water whirls and the endless boxing sands. I am looking...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 25, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Temptation I brought an apple to my teacher at Sunday School, Miss Hooker. I kept it in my jacket pocket until after class so none of the other kids could see me give it to her after the lesson. It weighed me down a little on one side, my left side, where I...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 24, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Circular Saw We sat down at a table shaped like a heart. It reflected our mutual wish that we rekindle our love, which was as worn out as a Ford Fairlane abandoned on a New York City curb. The tables nearby were shaped like kidneys, gall...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 23, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Living Signs At night waiting in the dark I begin to think of a door half open on the unlived years already coming in. Dawns beginning earlier and earlier and more welcome than before. A brilliance fills the bedside glass half full the more I look...
