by Helen Ivory | Dec 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
My Twin Brother: Or, Coming Out He was the one with all the girls. He brought them home in droves and they lay on the bed, their quiet minds like lungs, emptying and filling. At school, they taught me how to live like him, how to wear his...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 10, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Baptism I do not want to be born anew I do not want to be washed clean Stepping past the broken reeds my toes are curled my path is silt I will not be reborn Rude warmth of freshwater jellyfishes my gown I swell with the shame of pissed-in...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 8, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Bless This House Bless this house; thank God it’s not us. When earthquakes and tsunamis are images we can flick to re-runs of The Simpsons, when the snatched child is not our own, and uniform photos on flag-draped coffins are other families’...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 7, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Time I Tried to Work in a Café The Catastrophe Café. That was the café I worked in for a few months. The broken sign bore the tagline: “Embrace your mistakes.” The owner was called Jane and was as accident prone as they come. You never saw her...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 6, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Day Of The Eyes Opening Those minute eyes sun conjures in the body of blue, you find in your mother’s face. They worked her soft. Broke her down. They all stares at you- where were you last night? The nights before? You remember living here....
by Helen Ivory | Dec 5, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Bent Double Day 1. A summer of the same relentless heat starts up, with no respite. What does take the edge off mean? There is an ounce of fog. Day 2. My legs are odd. There is no taste to food. The ball that was unravelling starts to rewind...
