by Helen Ivory | Jun 12, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Care Dark red, dark green; his jacket on a chair; the dog barks outside. A white van arrives; its tyres crack across gravel until silent. The whistling… “Give this man his daily bread and give the dog a bone.” Whistling man, closer now; and his strange scent,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 11, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Speed Indication Device I hurry to town, call Hello! to the one whose hair is pinned in a bun, and sings alto in the Community Choir; wave to toddlers in the park – a shortcut from my school at playtimes when I was allowed to run to the library; glance...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 10, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Confessional a special darkness heavy with incense we wait for the click the screen, the shadow breathing he can see in the dark you might have seen red vestments pause at the hidden door beside you your heavy darkness speaks of loss, twilight, your face...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 9, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Theft One night while my grandmother sleeps he slips in, through a window that isn’t quite closed, through her dreams. As if he senses her loneliness he gives her his heart, won’t leave but words go missing, memories migrate—...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The folks who live on the hill Greenfinch flock between you and the sun turning east west east again, light through a bee’s wing. Folds of lily-fat smother the pond and the garlic’s big as apples. The greenhouse sweats tomato beads. Picnic...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 7, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Sunday, Aberdeen Waking from our final raucous night, there are seagulls, the aftermath of gin, sharp shafts of light scraping across the floor and here I am, shipwrecked, strand-strewn, flotsam sicked up from the seabed. Queasily the waves heave, hurling over...
