by Helen Ivory | Oct 16, 2019 | Prose & Poetry
There are No Words on a Dead Planet Be yourself. Be one of many. Shout with the only weapon you have. Be nicely raging. Be credible. Be insistent. Be alive. Be floppy in their arms (it hurts less.) Be equal to it. Be on TV. This revolution’s in...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 15, 2019 | Prose & Poetry
Un Chien Andalou My Father as a dog lies on the road Sunning as clouds roll overhead And the breeze dons the scent of the olive bushes. He raises his foot to scratch his ear And bats away the flies that hover Around the burning halo of the midday...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 14, 2019 | 2019 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Night Train It seems so long ago, now, that I took the night train across the border aware only of the fury to flee anywhere, the numb indifference towards the destination. Does it matter to you where I started from? Since then, every journey has...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 13, 2019 | Prose & Poetry
Below Zero The night is freezing, freezing and thick as velvet, and the little stars stand out as thin as pins. The bath is hot and I lower myself, I sink, beneath the water: it hurts my skin with its comfort. I think of how they recommend peeling...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 12, 2019 | Prose & Poetry
Cowboy Church After I came out of the coma, it was explained to me that I had (repeatedly) tied cherry stems with my tongue. Reporters in attendance of my waking took pictures, and a few shook my hand. My girlfriend, who believes mountain lions...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 11, 2019 | Prose & Poetry
Cold Kitchen Willow has bred in the cold of our kitchen like some internal coppice; where hot cakes and rolls cooled on racks, we have “Shoppers” and wreaths and little else between us, as she grapples stalks with steel fingers, weaving the bonds...
