by Helen Ivory | Aug 27, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
The Burial Spring arrived with a thud at the window and the loose neck of a sudden corpse. I found it in the mad sunshine, with eyes snapped shut and wings tucked in; a feathered grub plucked belly side up. Its static talons clung stiff to...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 26, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Third-Person Effect for Ben Detenber Somebody’s wrong on the Internet, and everyone else is grabbing a mouse to be sure to get in on the clicks. Some guy in Johannesburg already knocked down his Coke and destroyed his keyboard, but...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 25, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
On the Train to Stafford (OMG) While the Leicestershire countryside ambled by the window (Oh my god!) its lush green hues and rolling hills sparkling in the sun’s glow (Oh my god – no!) beneath old church spires reaching up into an...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 24, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Bovine A field has sprung up on the first floor landing where a bull cranes his large-boned head towards her, disbudded horns nudging the wool, sunlight tinkering through the grasses. She tries to coax him, wheedle him down with...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 23, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
The East Wing My footsteps echo across the marble floor as I follow the tak tak of the caretaker’s stick. Above, the last of the evening light burns in the cupola and I can just make out the glass cases...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 22, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Minster Towers I sit where I always sit in the pink chair with wings. There are no magazine or papers here. My mother’s eyes close, her pinnie dappled with porridge Her hands warming mine. Blue hands. Blue from my walk Across Saturday...
