by Helen Ivory | Aug 16, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Driving on Old Roads The coastline’s smile is sharp with blackened teeth, seabird shelters, scarps, cutaways, broken reefs: the bloody mouth of a boxer who can’t be dropped, punch drunk with the brain’s purple pounding; stopped glaciers, slipped...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 15, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
The Art of Walking Nowhere Terrestrial locomotion across concrete, the inverted pendulum, moving flesh and boot – the touchdown softened by slightly worn inner soles. Fascinated by gum stained slabs, I sidestep snails and ants and cut through the...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 14, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Miles of Memory The passenger train along the Connecticut shoreline moves as if in a river of wooden ties and steel rails. It travels through the old industrial towns like Bridgeport, long ago a manufacturer of brass, and places settled in New...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 13, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
High Hopes There are blackbirds singing beautifully at dawn, Mozart and Shakespeare existed and that’s fine, but each morning, I pray a new miracle will find its way into existence; elephant birds discovered deep in Madagascar, a cure for six...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 12, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Houseplant daughter (Non-melancholic depression) Tonight, my houseplant child asks about sunlight, brushes my arm as she stutters on the word, photosynthesis, raises her eyes to the bulb as if to say, Will that do? I keep the curtains shut all day...
