by Helen Ivory | Oct 24, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Seven 1. Some pretty little boy tried to get fresh with me in a bathroom once (just once), I was sat, drifting softly, legs apart on the edge of the bath when he shut the sterile door, bolted, sealed us in — I didn’t trust him, his bubblegum wad tongue,...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 23, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Miss Atomic Bomb Twelve men died on the thirteenth, fifteen on the fourteenth. I suppose that makes fifty four, all things considered. Red bricks and razor wire, my love. And grey dust that settles on our skin. February frost. Ice builds up on the...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 22, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
beg forgiveness supplement Sunday preserving your pickles talk to someone speak of nothing the void in your pocket a thing forgotten ten miles in new shoes ten miles in new shoes hold on, daddy’s coming airtight Kilner jar...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 21, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Needling Thoughts People used to draw on each other when I was young. It was the ultimate non-permanent branding until we took to paying for our needlepoints. Scrawling on skin used to be the height of human intimacy and contact. Last night I...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 20, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
When I returned When I returned home I could not remember my town The streets were squares and rules The lights by the fountains at night People streamed past I found it embarrassing running into your old best friend at above all places a grocery store...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 18, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
To Be a Fly is to have the might of superboy and beat yourself over and over, soaring hard into the wall, next to a swat-stain from a glutted mosquito. monsters a million times bigger hear you whine from rooms away, spaces large as canyon on a planet...
