by Helen Ivory | Apr 21, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Inch By Inch After his scalpel summer, with the wheelchair butting Edwardian doorways and my mother’s light-hearted exhaustion, my father built a nest against pain around his red armchair: Elmore Leonards stacked by the evening...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 20, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Countless Little Notes I wanted to represent the sound, not the person who was producing it, nor its metaphorical significance. It took me quite some time to come up with a solution: My solution was not to find a solution, but rather to...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 19, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Map-Making You live close to this land, map its contours as surely as your body’s own: secret parting of valley lips, arterial push of river into tide, the sticky rill of your own still water. Some days you plot another’s country, their muscle and...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 18, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Already it Has Risen The sun has already risen. It slashes merciless rays, Spreading vitamin D and radiation equally. The paint on the front door peels Under its ferocious examination. It pours through the keyhole Easy as milk. Nestling its shape...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 17, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The Ford There was a moment of driving rain that forced him into a grouse butt for some semblance of shelter, and he huddled there, his woolly hat on under the hood of his waterproof jacket and his gloved hands tucked deep into coat...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 16, 2016 | 2016 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Me, Me, Me Sometimes I feel like a stranger in the town called Me. I enter a bar and all the other me fall silent. The barman is familiar, he reminds me of me when I was younger. “Shandy” I say and he shakes his head without speaking. “It’s funny”...
