by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
I put make-up on for the Deliveroo driver Pornography implies this a fruitful strategy for lonely women. Often their husbands are out of town, but you could be anywhere. I put make-up on for the Deliveroo driver, hot ribs and bang bang cauliflower hint...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Wheat Your boots thump the dust on the stile’s nether side. As you weave through the wheat, somehow the brow of the hill is obscured and although you see it plainly the line of oak trees is not quite there. You are lost in fog on the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Beguiling with a Gallows Jig Grainstacks at the End of Summer, Morning Effect by Claude Monet At that wink the world stopped with dizzy games, stillness in this grain-stack ingests cities beguiling with the iron scent of rain, dancing a gallows jig on...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Foldout Body My new foldout body, has bones I can feel and the cold lives easy, wedged between muscle and cartilage, stone-like, my limbs hold winter. I fold up, hiding the one piece of flesh I possess, since having my daughters. The curve is...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 8, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
not quite the million dollar win no, my socks’re not knocked off no hurling hats or punching the air just an average day on this small planet gently beginning with chai and hot-buttered quietness and O my reward has greenly emerged out of its dark...
