by Helen Ivory | Nov 1, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
To Rabbi Goldberg: a love letter My mother, the convert, was horrified when I took to wearing a crucifix; you laughed, same as when I said I’d decided not to believe in god. I said that Shug from The Colour Purple had it right instead; god was in it all. I...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 31, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Civilization The bleaching reek of sulphur remains but I have manufactured strings enough for a month or two. With each shorter day the solar panels work a little less and voices, not vehicles, dominate the early dark outside. In a last,...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 30, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Backlash ‘There’s a bit of a backlash these days,’ he said, ‘people moving away from the screen and returning to paper & pen.’ Emergency procedures are in effect that are aimed as much below the belt as above the collar. I work on my voice every day, sometimes...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 29, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Blood Roots One day I will be a tree When I am buried and my body rots I will be eaten by worms and those little bugs that always seem to be in a hurry When I am buried and my body rots I am going to feed that tree over there too with the true English roses and the...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 27, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Sleepers You watch his punch-bag uvula quiver as the air he snores tries fresh combinations: left hook, jab, lunge. A word search lies part filled in his copy of Puzzler Collection; celebrity names cartouched in ink. His forearm hairs, erect in...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 26, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Bowls Fine for an hour, then dull, despite a summer sun. Green tedium. But do beware, if nudged a bit, this game is good at slowly rolling on and on and on: little genuflections – bows, knee-bends, cupped hands, unfolding arms, weave in the dying...
