by Helen Ivory | Sep 13, 2024 | Featured, Flash Fiction, Prose
After the Tribe When she left, the winds picked up and the bloated sun filled the horizon with fire, the sky turning ochre. She hurried in the heat, leaving behind what she called a tribe, not a homeland. She still remembers the scale of the...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 12, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
The Speed of the Earth He sees a stainless-steel spoon burned off at the base, a bunch of wild flowers dropped, a builder’s padded glove plastered flat, a car slumped in black ashes and glass. He imagines his classmates singing out the bargain...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 11, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
Homunculus Explaining to my little man about proportion, he responds with feeling: a picture of daddy with thousands of fingers. Sensory and motor cortex guiding the felt-tip pen, big tongue lolling as he draws. A little man with huge hands,...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 10, 2024 | Featured, Poetry
What is this, a family outing? Yes, dad, that’s exactly what this is, I want to say to him as I open the car door, climb into the front seat, remembering those marvellous trips to the tip at Loscoe. My brother, aged nine, threading himself through...
by Helen Ivory | Sep 9, 2024 | Poetry
Lines He lived next to the funeral home with his three daughters. A cherry picker beeps in the distance. I cannot see it, but I know the light is red. Who brings roses to a funeral? Rain rolls down window glass, but not here, only somewhere in the...
