by Helen Ivory | Nov 12, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Changeling, The It’s my indifference That shows the difference. Duty Officers have to chain me to my train seat. I’m reluctant to be bound for home. They worry me back through time and space to the land of slate skies, and the sad child left...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 11, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Shelter Wood Ending ten nights on blue tile and sarissa, I crushed rosemary to my face sitting in a circle under the shelter wood. Thrilled to enter the darkness again, I was altered like my finest garment to become right and unneeding redress. The new moon...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 10, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Municipal Ambition When I think of the neglect. The years of untended want gone to waste. My God – I could go down on my knees and weep. Weep! like a silent movie heroine bathed in the torchlight of pathos, and all my starved orifices would form a...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 9, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Cracking British Pen There is a pig in my pen unable to crawl out, its snout protrudes, black with ink, sniffing across the paper. I think of Great Britain and its cracking citizens. The pig shrieks its last noir drop. Its squashed fat shivers. I...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 8, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Northern Line On the platform, a waiting hum. Patience of night. A few faces scan and watch, scan and watch. This is an invisible rainforest. A girl like a statue in a long black dress has one hand uplifted – royal, graceful. The unseen rain falls about...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 7, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
I was a tree in ’83 something about mid-Westchester aspirations that led me to believe sub-consciously that things WERE slower out in the country and that I needed slower in a lot of ways then … I came to believe that nothing was slower that...
