by Helen Ivory | Nov 27, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
I’m bed I’m bed not wardrobe with my back against the wall ladle not fork breast stroke not crawl lintel not brick flagpole not vault sweetcorn not wheat I would like to meet a man for swimming, visits to ikea, soup, who prefers...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 26, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Butterfly Landing Twitch and she panics away. Sit still. So. Be a karst hill, unmoving time and wait for her panting wings to slow, slow. This is a special trust or she mistakes your leg for a flower. Either way, you are blessed by this silken...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 25, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Encountered a man ‘And I, too, used to carve and serve up great failures for myself in youth,’ said the old flapping man. I met him on a bus throttling ourselves south to stay warm. I had bundled sorrowfully into a corner hoping for silence...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 24, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Train You’d have thought that my journeying from Telford to London would be enough time to read these poems to darn a jumper to stare out the window; but between the announcements the ticket inspection the dark-light of tunnels the loud...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 23, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Lessons i And him with his track record – he should have known to leave school left, not tag back to the party on third-hand word of hi-jinks, an ex-prefect break-in unlocking the Botanics for hothouse booze and maybe things might get a little...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 22, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Sieving I know about stars. They’re far away have nocturnal habits and hide from the day, and when I lie hair rasping a pillow of sand fingers sieving cool grains, shrinking clumps in each hand, I can watch them for hours. Those that drop from...
