by Helen Ivory | May 31, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
non forgotten- woven light of breath ask of the forgiving ice from out of which the blood is birthed ask then of the silenced ash rubbed into wounds like scars scatter the dead pelt non-forgotten nothing has claimed nothing...
by Helen Ivory | May 30, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Four Poems 1. Old days squatting at the edge of vision. I work it into an image, fix that in a frame. But it moves off just the same, leaving me to linger on in prison, like a gap in time ringed by frost, like a murky past. Come rain or shine, the image...
by Helen Ivory | May 29, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Mother Her words are traffic signs and well-trained dogs. My words are ornamental ponds where meaning chokes under a scum of metaphor and idiom. Did I mention I love her? She’s a sharp woman. It’s not cloth but metal she’s cut from. ...
by Helen Ivory | May 28, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
The Way You It was the way you seemed to bounce across Front Square as if your body held some inner joy; the way you wouldn’t dance at parties but sat there, pipe in mouth, considering the quainter follies of the human race. The way, later, you referred to me always...
by Helen Ivory | May 27, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
Not Before Thursday Trevor irons his shirt while the kettle boils. A sharp crease in each sleeve and he’s done. He wets the tea and goes upstairs to finish dressing. Back in the kitchen, he spreads rough-cut marmalade on lightly toasted bread. The radio hisses...
by Helen Ivory | May 26, 2012 | Prose & Poetry
For his daughter, learning fire Sometimes verbs are stopped mid-movement and held to a page like pictures: you, crouched by the darkening wood, new sounds mouthed over and over – the rustle of a twig stirring a cauldron of bright-grey ashes, the soft hiss as flame...
