by Helen Ivory | Jan 10, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Abracadabra The man on the bus Keeps staring at me from his seat up front Conspicuously turned around No one else notices It’s a vehicle filled with ghosts and stooges All of us forgeries This guy has problems Let him have them I stare out a dirty...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 9, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
The Color of Death her skin chips off around the arms like seashells then darkens just above the ankles… a hundred years on the stretcher * I visit after the stroke and hear a knelling— half of her body silent gold dust, the other half a silky...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 8, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Woodlice We overlook them like the early symptoms of a disease, or the daily minutiae we disregard; dirt under our finger nails. Last night, exposed by the outside light, I noticed a gang of woodlice crowding at my back door, flexing their...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 7, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Here Before my eyes haze blunts the air a thin woman purses her lips coffee steams, Desire demands more lifting eyes up a blue sheen exotic figures dancing to the sun’s strum an overflowing glass, Exaltation the coming of what is not,...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 6, 2015 | Prose & Poetry, Word & Image
Daniel Lehan: Former paperboy, choirboy, shop assistant, ice cream seller, chip shop manager, petrol pump attendant, pub caterer, post office worker, theatre usher, cleaner, leaflet distributor,...
by Helen Ivory | Jan 5, 2015 | Prose & Poetry
Salt worker, Sečovlje There is a point at which he leans and pauses, and the sun bleaches the edges from the salt pile, the wooden rake, the tracks and carts with their drapery of halite. His face gleams like flowstone, eyes fix upon a line pinning tool...
