by Helen Ivory | Oct 27, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Waves I return to the house, stare through the grime-smudged windows at chairs on their sides, at the table covered with districts of muck. The backyard’s slabs are mottled with litter, weeds advance through gaps in brick. A cold fetor clouds all...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 26, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
This Year This year moss has grown on the cold side of our tree. It sits thick damp green at the roots but thins towards the plywood box I made; the box you requested, which I fixed with carpet tacks because I would not find screws. Weathered now...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 25, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Lawn Just starting my bowl of cereal and glancing at the wintry Beast from the East in The Mail when Dad hands me a three-foot broom. The time? Minutes past nine. As he’d said, if I pulled the handle and walked up and down in lines, in strict...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 24, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Paperboy Whose Mind and Paper Round Expanded Lying in bed Hands like fuck cats/rats Painting tiny squares on my brand new radio/alarm clock With Tippex Very defined, very detailed The Devil’s in the detail. I got the acid from a 40 year...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 23, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
March 1999 Everyone is panicking about millennial catastrophe, anticipating computer failure on a global scale. All the clocks will stop, North, South, East, West; the moon, sun, oceans, will descend to chaos. With everything that’s going on...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 22, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
At Liberty When the world’s not watching I eat barbecue chicken without cutlery, let sauce spread across my cheeks and lick my fingers. I lift my skirt to hitch up my tights with a wiggle, believe this time they won’t slide. I ask out Simon Carr when really I...
