by Helen Ivory | Jul 31, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
A Woman Who Writes A woman who writes feels too much. Anne Sexton There’s a price to pay, always trying to outstare the sun and not go blind. This handful of words, skin peeled from flesh, spreads out like a stain, is the genie loosed from your...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 30, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Moving On Disjointed we sit amid boxes, you and I lost in the tape and wrap of it all. New life for us we had said. Our old life had floundered, had stalled so soon after birth we had not recognized the truth till now. You make me coffee. Kettle boils on bare...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 29, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Park My grandfather told me of a crowd coming out of the Park after a county final: how the crush was so great that he had to brace one leg against the wall, hands flat on the concrete, to guard my young father from the throng. When we toast...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 28, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Birds for you They scrape and bill for answers I peck evenings for small words finches and robins temper tones They don’t flutter against my desires Or rise from foggy halos like sentences blurring intentions only stare my doubts with little eyes over ponds of...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 27, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Fencer I had my hair cut by a man who spoke through scissors he judged when my hair was short enough this man was old but he made me tingle perhaps I am gay because of this and I like to fence olives in dirty martini’s. I had my hair cut by a...
