by Helen Ivory | May 4, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Moon mother The moon has my mother’s face and the smile she gave when I swam into her arms one February night. She speaks my name cheerfully down the phone. No hint of the time passed since we last spoke. I will try not to count the days since my...
by Helen Ivory | May 3, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
During Lockdown Wood Chip Decided To Speak Can’t you see the splendour in my devotion? The satisfaction of ripped corners. Your delight in my demise won’t bring it closer. I am over-painted. You will breathe my dust. My name will trip on your...
by Helen Ivory | May 2, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Where We Begin Dandelions lose their lion heads weeds grow up to my ribs, petrified vines cling to last year’s bamboo. Three planets in our morning sky, my breath burns. Things we barely understand derelict hauntings, satellite showers and a...
by Helen Ivory | May 1, 2021 | Featured, Poetry
Hawthorn The gangrene smell is gone by the time the berries grow, and I am tempted to cut red branches and arrange them in jam jars throughout the house, too full of sour roasting fruit to remember the warning I heeded in May. I start to wear...
by Helen Ivory | Apr 20, 2021 | Featured, Prose
Cutting Through The tea-light flames would dance as if a modernist ballet were being staged in each of the glass dishes from expensive supermarket puddings. He had dotted them around his ground floor flat, on various pieces of unlikely furniture...
