by Helen Ivory | Dec 21, 2023 | Featured, Poetry, Twelve Days of Christmas
Not my partridge not my pear tree I Google tells me the partridge is Christ, ready for the wound. The temporary pluckers are digging for lead in the flesh. The urban dictionary says I’ll never be that cool. Ii And I read, because you were reading...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 10, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Stuffed Monkey from Jane Grigson’s English Food It’s impossible to foretell what will provoke tears, the sort that well up and tip over while you hold onto the kitchen sink waiting for them to subside. It could be a bunch of keys, so many of them...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 9, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
Mean sister We are stuck in our own words, not hearing each other. Sixty-somethings, we may as well be six, throwing sticks down the beck or poking dolls eyes out of their sockets, scribbling on their perfect faces. We are well rehearsed, know our cues,...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 8, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
The Day Of Un-Visitation ..there is a day of visitation given to all… Robert Barclay of Ury, 1678 I heard a calm, clear voice. But not with my ears. Not my outward ears. It wasn’t madness. For a moment I was Lady Julian. For a moment I...
by Helen Ivory | Dec 7, 2023 | Featured, Poetry
How the Wych-elm Once Reached tall as the absentee house. How the girl moored her hands and heart charmed by riven bark. How its name was thrilling frightening as the adults disguised witches. How the woman returns...
