by Helen Ivory | Apr 21, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Melon Picker Death touched your feet with its wing. It felt how you cut the cord, carried their boulder warmth from the lip of the leaf to the gut of the bowl. Every time the wind disturbed a shock of trees the dry light eclipsed your vision. You would...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 20, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
The Bloody Key I. He calls it love. She thinks he must know what love is. She is green and thin and has never encountered love. He brings her flowers which turn the air yellow with pollen. Her mirror is masked with gold. He appears in her doorway. He sends...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 19, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Seamless Ever since I remodelled my sister’s hair they’ve hidden scissors, pen knives, sometimes needles in a locked room. The key’s hidden under a stone somewhere in the nettled-yard. I recognise its glint, slip it in my shirt pocket, squeeze it in my...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 19, 2017 | 2017 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Gleaning Mother wears the vines of summer, hawthorn hackles raised in grief. She’s my father’s stubborn mourner, pecking at his horehound leaves. Nurses scatter apple blossom, bleach is masked in meadow scent. Father burrows under holly, glossy spines can’t...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 18, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Better Having written a truly depressing poem about the brevity of life, the transitory essence of pleasure, how suffering is universal, justice an illusion, and other tragic matters inseparable from Man’s destiny, he felt much better and wondered what was for...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 17, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Time had not come …to Oscar Buckland’s birthday but remained on the windowsill of last winter, like a stone skimmed halfway across a frozen lake. …to the hay curled in grains and fidgeting with dreams of tall lineages, great uncles standing in ranks of country...
