by Helen Ivory | Feb 15, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Line In a woken home a plant pulls close to daylight, windowpanes between Trees blind to their reflections colder-rooted and numb stuck moving with wind. Sam Howell grew up in Gloucestershire, England. Moving to London, he concluded his...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 14, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
A Lemon A lemon delivers an entire system. Part fact, part dream. For example, to say the word ‘lemon’ is to taste it. To repeat the word ‘lemon’ is to bring it into the light of day. Add a knife to this scenario. Hear the white heat of blade call...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 13, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Night World A fox yelps, geese bark, streaming overhead in the small hours. Who’s out there, snuffling, foraging, as we roost, safe in a nest of other birds’ plucked feathers? A silent, scurrying rat, an owl, gliding after a reckless mouse. Bats, taking...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 12, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Curiosity Driven by the Iago voice in your head you let yourself into his Google account rifle through in box, trash, spam… until you find an email that scorches your fingers. Brandishing his billet doux like lipstick on a collar, Your ‘Can’t you see how...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 11, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Levitating In your house, Newfoundlands like black clouds thundered across bald floors etched with pentagrams. Through beaded fly curtains there were guitars and drum kits, you found Alanis before I did and showed me the broken boyfriends and biscuits at...
