by Helen Ivory | Nov 11, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Rehoboth Bay after Jane Kenyon I was walking on the dock— the kind of activity I go out of town to do— where waterfowl float below with their young. My wife and I fell behind the laughter barreling toward the shore end and at that moment, we heard...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 10, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Snow Fall Post operatively he is unable to drive when suddenly snow fills the street. It’s only ten minutes to walk back home. ‘Not in these shoes,’ he says, ‘not in this jacket.’ Why I agree I don’t know for the snow makes a toy of the wheel in...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 9, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
the hard animal of her body the woman next to me shows me her bones she delves into her bag and pulls them out to show me the strongest and how it was broken you know like a tree she says when they cut it like this and she lifts her hand at the...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 8, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Religious Tack When you turned to God I turned away and in some sort of protest, a double-edged olive branch, I started a collection. Small at first: statues from catholic shrines, rude pewter pilgrims’ badges light-up Madonnas. A dome of the rock...
by Helen Ivory | Nov 7, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Daddy’s Issues It’s Monday and screwed-up bits of paper hit her like rocks and bruise her inside and her wine (he said was his) paints the walls and burns like acid, droplets streaming ravines down her cheeks and a demon screams get out of my...
