by Helen Ivory | Dec 4, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Day of the Dead I burn Mexico. I have lit the old candle which I got six years ago in Cuernavaca. So much love in the eye of a flame. It is as though – those I hold most dear and can never hold again are here. It is as though, the petals...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 3, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Mist rolls in, hangs over the heather, and on these evenings our landscape feels like an aftermath, no victors of the battle, everything waiting for the corbies, to pick the eyes; it is meaningless, it is beautiful – and we must hold these two...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 2, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
A Different Sky A solitary brick hut spilled tyres three sheep gossiped about something or other. Fenced in the farmer’s daughter teased a brood of hens they followed her winding assault course with adoration. She was grateful for their company. I...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 1, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Paper The secondary modern was further down the road from my school. Our playground was sunken below the level of the road. Passers by peered through the black railings while we played tennis, pitched netballs, hung around at break time. The Army Cadet Force...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 30, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Nocturne As the light goes out, she always slips her hand round his wrist, rubs the bumps left by the watch-strap like a soft braille – and he sleeps at once to the zen of the rain, dreams of empty grandstands, the slide of black Cobras at Club, the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 29, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Straight Lines The ghostly sap in lumber warps it just to keep us humble. We talk about a beeline knowing the overloaded bee wobbles on her way home. Bureaucrats long for trees with unserrrated rectangular leaves—little green chits for...
