by Helen Ivory | May 19, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Autobiography I only remember our neighbour’s wind chimes, Rosie and Jim, and my first lie. There was a tree house in the garden, blue and white checked summer dresses, a silent dinner table. My mother’s soft fingers on my forehead said...
by Helen Ivory | May 18, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
For Sale We are an abandoned house. Walls of wood slowly stripped dried bark fading on the floor. For Sale sign creaking with the wind’s song. The two of us, outside. Feet pressing on wet leaves. Selling ourselves with smiles that...
by Helen Ivory | May 16, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Things My Brother and Sister Taught Me That Brazil is the capital of Europe That triangles have six right angles That babies come from sharing soap That rows caused by winning games were never worth the bother That schools dance on...
by Helen Ivory | May 15, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
The Old Man in the House of Bone He sits in his house in the dark wood in the house of bone in the dark, tangled wood at the wood’s centre where no paths lead where all the paths have been erased or grown over so that no one knows the way to the house of bone they...
by Helen Ivory | May 14, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
30th July We have eaten and loved and the sun is up, we have only to sing before parting: Goodbye, dear love. Basil Bunting We drank red wine out of mugs dressed in tree finger cracks smiled stained teeth watched the candle drenched...
by Helen Ivory | May 13, 2014 | Prose & Poetry
Aside at a Dinner Party Her husband died nine years ago, and still she isn’t over it. (Our host speaking of her mother.) As one, each of us falls quiet. Tim Youngs has poems published or forthcoming in, among other...
