by Helen Ivory | Jun 19, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Cash Feus Everything is covered with dust or dustsheets. The armchairs look like ghosts of themselves, only suitable for ghosts to sit in. This is no abode for the living, and we, its late occupants, drift through what were once solid walls,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 17, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Wednesday’s Homework (Set: five Latin verbs, an essay on Lord Palmerston and problems on a parallelogram.) Walks home with Jinks, who says the girls are on for Saturday, straight now. That Joan, she fancies him. And home, Mum’s there, cold squash, Swiss...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 16, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Coppinger Court All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. Martin Buber It is a curious ruin we have come to see: long substantial walls all of four stories, buttressed parapets, a turret and several tall chimneys...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 15, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Snow Lost in an infinity of misted mirrors among shelves of Optrex, Pepsodent and pink calamine, I dunked net petticoats into sugar solution to froth out the nylon frills of that first dance dress. Hanging it to drip-dry over the porcelain sink I...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 14, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
The First day I Felt Good The first day I felt good my eyes walked through the rain that was beyond the window. There was a man outside. He was staring in. He was staring inside. This man, we’ll call him David. David is his name. He was outside,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 13, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Insect Destiny Butterflies follow their own invisible Nazca lines drawn by Insect Destiny or just the wind, searching, drinking, mating, dying. Squint and imagine the lacy electric lines drawn out in the daylight by those painted wings. ...
