by Helen Ivory | Feb 16, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Kizelbel, September 2004 For R. Last night was all too perfect. The only noise was the local crickets’ nightly jam session in the hills. All conversation was up against insect music, as one lone virtuoso near our balcony sang his own exquisite love...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 15, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Revival I found a frozen lizard on my walk at the red mud edge of a Devon lane. Intact and unspotted by crows or rooks, half hidden in the horse shit round the drain. I thought the creature might still be alive just stunned to stupor by the late...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 14, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Cupid and Me The day Cupid lost his arrows Dan never walked over to Paula on reception and asked her to the cinema, so they never kissed on the back row and that, in turn, meant that he never asked her to marry him that night at the fair, in front of the...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 13, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
I’d like to tell you… but you don’t exist yet. So far there’s only me mixed together with a few caraway seeds on the kitchen table and you will be a splodge of spilled coffee taking your shape from my clumsy gesture I’d like to tell you… that...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 12, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
In my father’s pocket Feel that square of paper in your jacket pocket next to your heart. Unfold it. Hold it out if you need to. “This is my father. He is loved, not lost. Please bring him home and when you have read this, put the paper back in...
