by Helen Ivory | Nov 27, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Proserpina opens his fridge Her soft tug releases an odour. The light flicks on… Along the top rack lies a tube of puree, twisted, missing its lid. A streaky rasher dangles between the rails. What was once lettuce drips onto a ripped-open...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 26, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Another Poem About Love Sigh, because this is another poem about love about the disaster the vague essence of hope the meet, the end, the bits in-between. Tell me I didn’t hate him when we first met – hello, Elizabeth and Darcy – tell me we didn’t...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 25, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
After the Party Someone stuffed the downed bottle with screwed wrappers, sweets twisted from their casings: a fish scale mosaic, silvered skins scrunched. The gaps – still lakes of air and glass distortion around dead-gilled traces of party, fun,...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 24, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Parting Out The body is like a car, and if you don’t use it, it dies. I spent too much time in my head, body puttered out, became just parts to be junked out My 3rd grade teacher pickles my brain like blue ribbon cucumbers carefully planted and...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 23, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
After The Event The doctor listened sympathetically and told me to maybe take a holiday and to think about my diet and to exercise. She recommended that I take up a hobby. Join a club perhaps. Maybe I could think about yoga or meditation. Above...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 22, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Road to Vyborg On the road to Vyborg I try to count the dead on my hands, but run out of fingers. The road is dangerous and this is Russia, you say. Over and over again. You took me, from the smoke to the white castle....
