by Helen Ivory | Jul 2, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Snow Train As the snow is tidal in the trees, consider the tracks and the dark tons asthmatic with steam, cold as the moon`s slight, black as the star`s hide, perfect as a pulse of wheel; dead crate of steel that rests and waits, then moves by...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 30, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Speak after Faiz Speak, because your lips are free Speak, because you have a tongue Because your golden body belongs only to you Because you are still alive See how in the blacksmith’s shop The flame burns wild, the iron glows red; The locks...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 29, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Cliff You don’t remember this point? A stone cottage balanced on a cliff. It was spring, the previous guests left thrift in an egg cup on the shelf. You don’t remember the subterfuges – changing history as easy as making tea. White foam wore...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 28, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Seven Winters for Trish Howley Once I lived beneath a lemon tree, wore sandals all year long, air on my skin, mud squelching between my toes after sudden rain. Seven winters have passed since I last saw Africa, and I miss her: a large and...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 27, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
So, You Think Your Mother is a Gorgon? You suspect it when she looks at you and you freeze, unable to apologise, or leave. The words you could say are stones in your mouth, falling down your throat. Observe her carefully to know for sure....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 26, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Landowner You say you don’t remember the time you slashed your razor-palm across my cheeks. When I fell to meet your shoe, a flint of rage stabbed my gut again. I remember well. My friend from school was there. When you were done she hurried home,...
