by Helen Ivory | Aug 28, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Claire, the flat-packed cat Your crumbs have been under the highchair a fortnight now. You were still so new to me. You used to practice each and every burgeoning word, clumsily cutting up syllables, thinning them out as you bore down on your most...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 27, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Swifts You were there, I was over here, the swifts were everywhere between being transcendental and complicated and always trapped in their velocities. Their stitchwork fell apart like old infatuation, like the ghost of fireworks, until dusk...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 26, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Another Withered Leaf A thin fragrance of pumpkin and potato peels had lingered there for as long as she could remember, a product of almost a century of cooking and baking seeping into the damp floorboards and worn cedar plank walls of the cabin....
by Helen Ivory | Aug 25, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Eloquence Your eyeballs are marbles in my mouth, large, saliva-sweating, gag-making gobstoppers, two for a penny, keeping me silent. They clank together, underwater internal, secret. Slowly they melt, sweetness slick on shiny surfaces, releasing...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 24, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Not Raglan Road The spit, piss and vomit of Bridge Street; Market Street’s chewing-gum tattoos and flaking dog-end scabs, have all too often kissed the soles of her suede boots. The leafs and litter sent flailing over the kerb by motorists...
