by Helen Ivory | Mar 28, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
a professor adapting Joyce for opera he is mining for music in Ulysses’s cave where the white walls loaded with black English sparkle every now and then, hoisting himself deeper into a covalence of meanings that undress silently with their back...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 27, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Death Italian Style In Italy when you die People want to know, And even though it’s obvious Where the funeral will be They must be told when, So notices are pasted On stone walls and pillars With your name in headlines, A picture and all the...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 26, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Panoptic Nerve I come from the prison state of the future. When I was growing up people were very worried about crime. The recession and decline of stable employment had led to a spike in the murder rate, and a prevalent gang culture. There was a...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 25, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The curious absence of ducks in paintings by John Constable Were there none, or simply far beneath his notice? Dozens heckle my arrival, note my eagerness to hide. I take a room above the mill race, cry for six hours solid, reading self-help...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 24, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Birds and Mice There are birds in my garden and they are not singing for me they are black like my moods and when they are dead they keep making noises there are mice beneath my feet and i follow them about the house till they hide from me; I...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 23, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
The Borders of a Man My father was a concrete man: welded hard by ash and stone, unfeeling like a rock paperweighted on shores farther than the edges my childhood can remember. My father was once the god of mystery in the stories I used to write...
