by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
There is Art by the Side of the Road for Truck Drivers I saw Van Gogh by the side of the road I saw Van Gogh leant up by a lamppost I saw his blue iris glow stuffed in and left behind somewhere in High Wycombe England With the ghost of the poet...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 4, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Hoarder Cleans Out It is impossible to label the boxes after a life of miscellany. I name them all after members of my family, most of whom were named after each other. Years blend and knead like terrible dough that never rises....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 3, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Emperors of Ice That feeling of flying in a medium thicker than mere air that feeling of not knowing how cold can hurt if feathers fail, or fat thins that feeling of seeing season as either all dark or all light that feeling of hunger suppressed for...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 2, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Fold Mick brings another bucket in from the coal house and shovels coal onto the fire, reducing the flames to smoke. He throws on another lot of coal. ‘Do you think you’ll be alright with that?’ he asks. ‘Bit more I think. Bit more,’ she says....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 1, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Homecoming While the cheesecake thawed, you were growing cold on the kitchen floor. On the reddening strawberries I saw the OCD impress of your fingers as I opened the backdoor. I sat and ate a slice, its cold disturbed my inner tract. My fingers brushed...
by Helen Ivory | May 31, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Call My mind resists the heart’s need to travel from its solitary throne of bone and skin. I also know this: his voice is a castle, so I pick up the phone and walk in. Michaela Ridgway lives in Brighton. Her magazine credits...
