by Helen Ivory | Jun 25, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
What the Weather Man Said My doctor prescribed me an umbrella: to be worn indoors, twice a day, after meals. He said it would stop me falling too quickly, help me land on uneven surfaces and forget the smell of rain: Lots of my patients...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 24, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Your Services are No Longer Required We’re looking for someone else— someone who knows how to run the mower without rolling over the cord. When you roll over the cord, it tends to make the mower stop. Always when that happens,...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 23, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Man in the Moon I am watching the moon when I bump into a man with just a mouth in the middle of his face. This mouth—grins—and asks for a light. Is this some kind of a joke? I ask. He twists and opens...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 22, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Shadow Child What has that child been doing again? Don’t tell me: snipping out shadows, all shapes and sizes, making a mess. No doubt there’ll be little silhouettes of us, with our teeth and happiness obliterated. Are we never to be...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 21, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Melancholy of Final Pages The aim is still the same, reflect what it means to be human. A tale, of ghosts past and present. The voice was unmistakable, this calculated rudeness feeding the cooked flesh, a vehicle for rage irredeemably...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 20, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
A month’s trial… Attempting to butch up your girly home, you consign Marilyn cushions to the spare room, replace boudoir duvets with dark covers. Underwear entwining in ‘a big wash’, your vegetarian trolley re-discovers the meat counter at...
