by Helen Ivory | Dec 18, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Mrs Darwin’s Egg I break the egg over the kitchen table. The yolk spills out on the china plate like gorse in snow. Outside the snow still falls, blindfolding the brambles. I put myself in the space between one snowflake and the next. Soon I...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 17, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Winter in Canyonlands Arches Bookstore, Moab. Amid sleek hardbacks, worn secondhand, pulpy softcovers and thumbed magazines, we drink Tao Teas, finger Ugly Baby toys. We’ve been up to Dead Horse Point on the one day of mild precipitation, Hey Jude on XM radio,...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 16, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
North We are expected to accept the corners of the map, the turning arrows, the edges of town, but North pulls, so that we gravitate, to its polished gold, stripped back skin. The further North we travel the more we see true North shipwrecked on one crashing wave. The...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 15, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
On the anniversary You walked the path between the pines that led down to the water, down to the sloping flow of the ocean upon crushed sand because it’s where she told you to let go so it’s where you’ve come to let go. A cove of ash, boulders...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 14, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The Buzz From ten or so metres away there is nothing, just the rustle of the wind through the grass, the occasional whoop of a distant teen on the basketball court, the rattle and squeak in the murmuration of nearby starlings, the hum of a ride-on...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 13, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Andy Williams When I was young I didn’t get it: the crooning, whining, almost girlish voice. Middle of the road, hope I die before I get that old. Music my girlfriend’s parents danced to, waltzing with stern expressions and stiff backs....
