by Helen Ivory | Dec 6, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Family Man Hullabaloo unframes this night, the hide and seek of vixen and dog fox: the bark of both, a crack through slate. The miner’s hut is curtain free, open to whim. A bottle grins its emptiness; the vagrant curls into childhood. His...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 5, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Happi–ness— I can map all the rivers in my head. I know their history. How many bodies they’ve carried. The cities they cut through. I know the dates this one flooded the abutments of the Pont Alexandre and reached for the wrists of nymphs. When...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 4, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Thaw Leeks and cutlery bent beyond belief. Hitler’s descant recorder and the Valleys school where they had sacrificed one meerkat from Chester Zoo every January. After the warming the free coffin lid that for years housed the real Mona Lisa and a...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 3, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Gardener I go to him when the lakes are quiet, when blossom holds its breath in bluest south. The horses have strung up their miles, and are collecting inwards towards the light, coal, and all the dim world’s glow, this earth-meal, and dust,...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 3, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Where I’m led My feet have a terrible habit of following where my eyes lead whether I want them to, or not. And my eyes, they don’t care for Health and Safety in any way whatever. Ever. So I find myself too high up too steep a hill, grabbing twigs ...
