by Helen Ivory | Mar 4, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Before In a swathe of red colour you arrive, your body slumped to that of a child; your shoulders are very thin. If I were to begin this again I would say that sometimes to be born at the wrong time can lead to all sorts of problems. You arrive in...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 3, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Say No More I intended to say we share words as well, although it takes just two of us and a common language to articulate a tower. More like that Sunday magazine article On dying languages in Patagonia Than we care to say: I asked her if she ever...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 29, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Grounded Yesterday when we were 9, we stole a real imaginary lorry that smelled of circus. It had an elephant engine with a flame-juggler sound. It had unicycle seats and lion-tamer windows which we stole together but stopped before the trapeze...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 28, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Lord Knows I Can Be Cruel And that morning, the type of morning for putting the neighbour’s post in the bin and you’d ate the last heel of bread, I chose my words, whetting them in my mouth so they came out edged. I chose them so they posted out...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 27, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
An Interesting Case of Auditory Processing Difficulty A writer reckons words are friends. He clearly has not met da gangstas muscling in on the mother son trip to an ear-splitting Arndale noodle bar. All she did was point out Forsyth’s through...
by Helen Ivory | Feb 25, 2016 | Prose & Poetry
Word A word under a mountain or hid behind the woodstove. A word against deviltry, a hypothetical construction spoken by a trousered ape. A word that means something other than what it means. Graced with veins and speckles. With pieces torn out of...
