by Helen Ivory | Sep 20, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Die is Cast
I held on to my mum’s hand as we stumbled down the stairs, following two rolling dice which were tracing a silvery arc in the air. My father was screaming his last gasp behind us, with a knife buried deep in his chest. My mum’s...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 19, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
The House’s Role The house stays put. It has its reasons referred to as people for my purposes. Separated from the outside though not thought particularly isolated – the house considers what the world has to offer other than itself but respectfully...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 18, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Turanj, September 1995 a river crossing as over the Styx time hangs here heavy with loss suffocating houses pocked profane eviscerated guts rotting whitely on the street the private bared for anyone to see if anyone were there to see) above all a depth...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 17, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
The door sings its welcome it’s the kind of door that trickles honey in the light and says come in twice at least leave your coat in the hall the kettle’s singing sit yourself down here at the window in the garden oak a blackbird warbles...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 15, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Mother I do not give you enough credit for the strength it must have taken to turn your back on all you knew to live a life with a man wed to another, knowing you could never marry him, divorce an illegal and dirty word in a country decades away...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 14, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Canada Christmas 1891 Dear sir you are most welcome to Memkumbli, may the spirits of my longhouse light upon you. ‘Tis pity you cannot abide potlatch, – a sorry offence against all virtues of economy and improving labour. Won’t you, just this...
