by Helen Ivory | May 15, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Freak The call girl comes in and looks down at all my shoes, which I keep by the door. It seems a natural place to keep them. “Why do you keep all your shoes by the door?” she asks. “I don’t know,” I say. “Where do you keep...
by Helen Ivory | May 14, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Bathing Jesse James I do it on the back porch. He fills it up. Always on a Wednesday. It’s a quiet day. No one passing to admire the curling hair on each bare haunch, the apple at his throat exposed, or yesterday’s bullet holes like white petals blown onto...
by Helen Ivory | May 13, 2012 | Prose & Poetry, Word & Image
Cirkus I can’t understand the clown but the red looks beautiful – gold braid bitten into the fibres. The lion tamers (ticket collectors on Sundays) have...
by Helen Ivory | May 12, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Canary i did not touch her, out of respect for death’s aesthetics (though i was seized by the notion she could fit inside a teacup). feather-yellow and concrete, she lay in granulated silence. i snapped a picture. proof that, should a heart stop beating with no one to...
by Helen Ivory | May 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Travellers for Martin They were always there at the edge of the town, an unhoused presence we drove past on shopping-days and Sundays in the beat-up Morris Minor our grandfather steered, erratically,...
