by Helen Ivory | Jan 24, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Sir Richard Burton invites the apes to dine after Walton Ford’s ‘The Sensorium’ It began a civilized affair. The table was laden with mangos, with pomegranates and plums and set on the veranda. Such guests as we were not welcome inside. A macaque...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 23, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Air Proclaims a Union Inside the inside of the orange. Or inside the outside. Forces elemental rather than particular. The peel, the pulp seen from particles outward. * My surroundings feel more and more like the manifestation of an exquisite...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 22, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Creative Man Our first cramped council house was taken up by the mahogany dining table my dad used for a desk. I remember beautiful fountain pens; jars of cloudy water; coffee cups spotted with ink. The way his soft shadows darkened across a dozen...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 21, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Threadbare This blanket that I took from you at six, you never forgave me. A christened gift that you wrapped your dolls in and sniffed, sleeping, dreaming, breathing deeply. White threads like a net remind me of the blanket, bloodstained and wet that they...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 20, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Morning Rain for Kelly Sturner This morning there was much rain, forcing the birds into trees, the butterflies beneath leaves. I stand at the open window, listening for the cool silence between raindrops. I begin to wonder about time machines, about...
