by Helen Ivory | Sep 13, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
A Cell My heart, that scrappy little jail and inside it, you sitting there dejected growing more yellow and gaunt by the day. (I saw your thing on Instagram.) I would like to release you, but can’t the doors don’t work that way. If there is a key,...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Binge drinking Sometimes I distract myself, watch Svankmajer with the family, or walk like Robert Walser, conversing cheerily with crows; but the news still bubbles madly under bouts of fierce bad skin, bursts forth in pints of wine and whisky...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Blue Lilies The blue lilies celebrating my pregnancy I placed in a vase of blue-wash pottery. A sweet force had somehow swept through the gristle and splinters and sediments and sticky bubbles of my polycystic ovaries. I told her stories, lots,...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Floors of Vapor Plover inside a crocodile’s mouth, blinking the clouds from its eyes. Doing nothing is difficult. Adam Day is the author of Left-Handed Wolf (LSU Press, 2020), and of Model of a City in Civil War (Sarabande Books),...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Liminal Before he died, he saw his parents more and more, not that it bothered him, he said, there was nothing untoward going on: they didn’t gesture him to follow nor loom at his bed in the care home; they went about their ordinary lives,...
