by Helen Ivory | Mar 16, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Routine Comedy A wooden javelin, midway through my paunch, lost me my life. * I somersault in a tank of boiling blood with an arrow through my heart pointing ‘this way up’. The facility was installed below Moscow’s Dante Alighieri Library...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 15, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Confession You weren’t made with love. After some kind of thunder, I took my chance to create you. Before, we’d duel, draw blood and then kiss the wounds. I knew he’d respond to primal intimacy: the love language I had...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 14, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Locked In (for Gordon) Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fût (Images 1907, Debussy) And the moon goes down over the temple that was And the temple that was struggles for breath And struggles for breath punctuate the rhythm of the voice And...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 13, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Cheap Blue Biro Despite his worsening illness, the ritual my father indulges upon on us each year, the strangest of anniversaries, has not changed for many years. The day his wife, my mother, had left him he had taken a bottle, one that had been...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 12, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
Rib Picking You are seventeen, You are beautiful, and you Are the engine of life. Levelled on the hillside, Somehow upright, white-washed Wind-torn weather rock Mid morning and like it’s been Recently, I’m up and nested At the window, the land glows at this...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 11, 2017 | Prose & Poetry
She’s nice, her. Not wanting. Some guy had said, not long into the exchange – although this was only worked out later with the help of a free online translation service. It had been guessed at the time – by the shift in his eye, the comma of a...
