by Helen Ivory | Nov 28, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Next Best Thing Our parents were astronauts of two extremes. Every vacant lot where we used to play started boiling over, so we grew up (in word only) against the prognosis of a possible plague of perverts arriving to snatch us. We were unlabeled...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 27, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Queen of the Meadows Much I do not envy them – the cold houses, the meat-heavy banquets and bread like stone, haphazard medicine, and tolerance of fleas, mice, dogs under the table, and violent men drunk by bedtime. But meadowsweet, gathered...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 26, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Black Hill I arrived by the other path and met my last year self taking the same photos – Gribbin Head,The Lizard, the difference being the snow of blackthorn blossom, the cold wind of spring. That was before tests, the waiting rooms, the waiting...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 25, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Frequency Violet Some have misgivings about Violet. They believe she is on the spectrum; somewhere at the very end, in fact. None can account for it but we’re told she hums inaudibly in the octave of ozone, and lives in an airlock, loiters in restricted zones,...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 24, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
The dog Sometimes in the early hours the dog’s toenails click on the passage lino. That dog has been gone two decades, nearly: sometimes one of them hears him, sometimes both. Though they never say they both remember the night the boy died:...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 23, 2017 | Prose & Poetry, Word & Image
Victorian Sisters I. Hardy. Well preserved. She mothered them. They found her alone. The rose still kind on her lips, olive still ripe on her skin. It was winter. II. Her fun faded. Her shadow grew bolder than her former self. Pale and...
