by Helen Ivory | Apr 25, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Temptation I brought an apple to my teacher at Sunday School, Miss Hooker. I kept it in my jacket pocket until after class so none of the other kids could see me give it to her after the lesson. It weighed me down a little on one side, my left side, where I...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 24, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Circular Saw We sat down at a table shaped like a heart. It reflected our mutual wish that we rekindle our love, which was as worn out as a Ford Fairlane abandoned on a New York City curb. The tables nearby were shaped like kidneys, gall...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 23, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Living Signs At night waiting in the dark I begin to think of a door half open on the unlived years already coming in. Dawns beginning earlier and earlier and more welcome than before. A brilliance fills the bedside glass half full the more I look...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 22, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
Before the Weighing Inspired by Jane Hirshfield’s The Weighing. Quietly now, divide your heart and feed the lioness before justice comes. It might not be the usual way. It is a way. Feed her the coins you took from the fountain, feed her the...
by Kate Birch | Apr 21, 2018 | 2018 poetry picks, Prose & Poetry
Scrappedbooks China fragments sank into the ceiling pond. Drifts of weaponised magazines rose from the grass. Ochre splashed with primary blocks, exclamation marks the outline sharp, even through the brume. An upturned caravan echoes a tombstone. Pulped...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 20, 2018 | Prose & Poetry
200.salute There’s a Russian word for the nostalgia of gone love. A noun. Razbliuto. It has the bite of a Corona taken easy or mouths scarfed in the throat of the wind, but it doesn’t taste of us. Our one-bed basement flat where vinyl spun and miso...
