by Helen Ivory | Apr 6, 2018 | 2018 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Wildlings My wildlings leave tokens of love scattered like breadcrumbs, then shriek and howl to scare away the birds. He offers me bouquets of broccoli – fistfuls of Brassica from a moss flecked giant. She wraps me in sapling limbs and sings me songs of...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 6, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
i for hours |you for years that night the Pennine air hungered for fresh blood its glacier stung red burn on margins rum rolled over ice and generic indie music played flashbacks break into pieces— sliding down a window in a kebab shop laughing,...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 5, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
String Theory My cats won’t play with static toys: they have to be balletic, with a puppeteer of human hands to make a plain string dance. The game becomes a battle, not of cat v string, but of feline versus human in multiple dimensions. A...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 3, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Playing the Tune Freddie do play us a tune, do get up off your bloody backside and play us something. Olivia’s voice made its way across the room, strident and cajoling at the same time. Freddie stumbled to his feet, knocking his glass against the white...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 2, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Blackboard I brush chalk from my hands. I’ve finished. The boy sneezes. He puts his Nintendo down, mutters: does that really mean anything? I say: wipe your nose. How do I tell a small, scowling child that this final set of...
