by Helen Ivory | Jun 26, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
On returning to Charlie Byrne’s Bookshop I am a herd of Friesians, hides quivering and udders swaying, as the gate opens on silt-sweetened river meadow grass. I am the leap off searing rock into a translucent pool. I am blood...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 25, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
What the Weather Man Said My doctor prescribed me an umbrella: to be worn indoors, twice a day, after meals. He said it would stop me falling too quickly, help me land on uneven surfaces and forget the smell of rain: Lots of my patients...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 24, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Your Services are No Longer Required We’re looking for someone else— someone who knows how to run the mower without rolling over the cord. When you roll over the cord, it tends to make the mower stop. Always when that happens,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 23, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Man in the Moon I am watching the moon when I bump into a man with just a mouth in the middle of his face. This mouth—grins—and asks for a light. Is this some kind of a joke? I ask. He twists and opens...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 22, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Shadow Child What has that child been doing again? Don’t tell me: snipping out shadows, all shapes and sizes, making a mess. No doubt there’ll be little silhouettes of us, with our teeth and happiness obliterated. Are we never to be...
