by Helen Ivory | Oct 22, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
At Liberty When the world’s not watching I eat barbecue chicken without cutlery, let sauce spread across my cheeks and lick my fingers. I lift my skirt to hitch up my tights with a wiggle, believe this time they won’t slide. I ask out Simon Carr when really I...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 21, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Portrait of the late Mrs Partridge I inhabit the rough drawings of numberless wild places which camouflage my handsome brindle rougey linen plumage and faintly jewelled russet feather boa My chestnut hair is blown upwards like whirring flames...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 20, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
1955, perhaps? Late winter afternoon. A London Park. The distant trees ghostly on the far bank of the bleak lake. Four and seven, say, in camel coats with beaver collars, feeding the ducks. I am holding a bag of bread standing beside my sister as...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 19, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Party He slips into the house, puts his pack of beer on the kitchen table, takes a can and walks from room to room, staying a while in the back room. The IKEA furniture’s pushed against the walls exposing a floor of wooden panels. He...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 18, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Ribcage Is Asked By Its Latest Lover How It Gets Around You try your best to remain upright when in a new bedroom, but it slows you down. Your latest lover gives you permission to be yourself, so you skitter instead of hop, your tips click and clack...
