by Helen Ivory | Aug 30, 2016 | 2016 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
My Mother Visits the Dissection Room She said she wanted to go there. So I pulled some strings, read her the rules. “Sensible shoes?” she said. “Yes Mother. Plus clothes you don’t mind ruined. Fixers, they don’t wash out. The smell will get you,...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 29, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Therapy Time This time after the morning rituals for the day, you turn your back, button your blouse, no glimpse of even your bra. New maneuver. I can tell that you are looking for words, but don’t know how to find them, like crows pecking at eyes...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 28, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Rose Her grave lay under the rosebush. We planted her first and by her parents’ hands the rosebush followed shortly after. Rather than heavy black straps we used umbilical white ribbon to lower her into the three foot grave. We left the ribbon in...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 27, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
November Your hair thick as mooring rope – I wound it round my hand pulled your body close, walking kept us warm on the spider-silk threads of a ploughed field the oak and horse chestnut compassed their last leaves – like old women with...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 26, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The congregation of trees stands with the wind hoofing its way through their limbs we kneel beneath in the dark in the rich mulch of their clothes hand in hand the deep howl of an Atlantic front above us pray hard cos God doesn’t fuck around...
