by Helen Ivory | Oct 17, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Oil Field You’d have thought that we were headed into wilderness, crossing the frost-still marsh through the forest’s early cataract of light. Our quiet coach was clocked by long-horned bulls, ghost-white in clearances and shaded leas. And even when we...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 16, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Trick is to pretend everything doesn’t depend on the delicate stem of your neck, twisting. As if nothing unusual were happening. As if you were born without weight, meant for the water, as if the only way to love and be loved is in the turn of...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 14, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Un- Below the hospital bed there was a hot circle of blood. A forehead on her forehead a palm on her palm the Polish song on the radio next to forgotten babushkas in the room down the hall with the door notice “Visitors after five” or...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 13, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Convalescent “She takes down my hair and does it like her own … she has me sit as she does, and I feel the absorption of her personality as I sit.” – Jeanne Foster, model for Gwen John. Only this, today – a letter, a nothing....
by Helen Ivory | Oct 12, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Sometimes you touch my body and awaken it… Sometimes when I talk you listen, stripped of concepts, and become air and flight, and when I am lost to this world you force me to return with soft streams of words. ...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 11, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Punchline A man walks into a bar where the pint’s on the house if he tells a good joke. He’s always the life and soul, and tonight he’s on form. Applause sweeps the bar like a tide till the barman calls time. A woman irons a week in an hour, matches...
