by Helen Ivory | Oct 18, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Some of This Is True Sun comes out, my body opens all its folding doors, its windows. Sun comes out, my body floats – like feather, cirrus, floats across the grass. Sun comes out. Under the apple tree in the hammock, my body lays me down. Sun...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 17, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Monocle remember when we lived in the shrubs? stewed in a shared room. its stench. our own ripeness torturing lungs scored elastic. remember as well as thieving, together we hauled the laundry of our bodies pretty-with-dumb into a service kitchen...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 16, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Flintinge When my dad was a boy, his parents brought him into the fields. As the whole town picked sugar beets, their breath hugged furrows in pre-dawn darkness. I think of the tug he was taught, the sound of roots wrested from the earth cold in a...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 15, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
minding eggs a line of hanging hooks bent us into the dining hall where we ate like birds all girls minding eggs a school project for cracking up blue girl brown tray beige egg empty locker room jumper stretched over knees navy wool egg...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 14, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
My Dead He reads aloud about visiting the Underworld in dreams, seeing his dead again. Through the big window behind him there’s a flowerbed and some long grass; a road with not much traffic; and on the far side a strip of whins and conifer trees...
by Helen Ivory | Oct 13, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Magic Pennies My dad was a magician. He could make a penny disappear with a twist of his wrist just vanish in thin air to pluck it later from your ear or nose. People laughed when dad did that. He’d put a matchstick in the centre of a clean white...
