by Helen Ivory | Jun 29, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Cliff You don’t remember this point? A stone cottage balanced on a cliff. It was spring, the previous guests left thrift in an egg cup on the shelf. You don’t remember the subterfuges – changing history as easy as making tea. White foam wore...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 28, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Seven Winters for Trish Howley Once I lived beneath a lemon tree, wore sandals all year long, air on my skin, mud squelching between my toes after sudden rain. Seven winters have passed since I last saw Africa, and I miss her: a large and...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 27, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
So, You Think Your Mother is a Gorgon? You suspect it when she looks at you and you freeze, unable to apologise, or leave. The words you could say are stones in your mouth, falling down your throat. Observe her carefully to know for sure....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 26, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Landowner You say you don’t remember the time you slashed your razor-palm across my cheeks. When I fell to meet your shoe, a flint of rage stabbed my gut again. I remember well. My friend from school was there. When you were done she hurried home,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 25, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
In Chartres 1 Young girl on a bench Lights a cigarette, Then, with her cigarette-holding hand, Tries to put on sunglasses And, with her camera-holding hand, Tries to position herself To take a photograph. She fumbles, She mumbles, She almost drops...
