by Helen Ivory | Mar 5, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
The Washing Armed with the washing, its damp haul spilling from my chest, I’d watch my feet didn’t catch and walk the grass barefoot to dress the naked line. There I’d let the load down and pull the sheets apart in lemon light,...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 4, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Peacock Bone and Sparkling Wine He has read her a short passage from The English Patient, and now she sits on the pale blue of the carpet, trying to form a cup with the soft white soles of her feet. Once she thinks she has managed it she...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 3, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
vanishing point somewhere between the laying on of hands and a repeat prescription somewhere between the sound of a neverending tv and a wpc kicking in the only way out somewhere between a funeral for one and an on call priest from the wrong denomination...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 2, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Beneath La Boisselle An underground eye, dark as a seabed, a chalk wall made smooth by the passing of men. It does not blink at the crowding shadows, fall of rock, candle-flame’s loss, echo of running feet, last outbreathing. Two men, still, at...
by Helen Ivory | Mar 1, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Presence of Mind After Magritte You always were the patsy, heavy-lidded, fish-mouthed: an outsider on his perch. Falconmanfish, quicksilver of scale, sharp of suit and tail feather. Did they trust your trinity? In the zoo you were loved and triple-fed....
by Helen Ivory | Feb 26, 2013 | Prose & Poetry
Walking in Sound Life is pleasant. Life is good. Virginia Woolf, The Waves A simple life is not quiet take an August afternoon on a street near your home tumbling red roses sap rushing everywhere and birds telling tales in trees going on and on...
