by Helen Ivory | May 15, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Besançon : October 1991 Motorways in France stripped to their flesh of cars, of trucks with names of families who run small to medium fruit and veg companies near the Swiss border. France is mine, though – I’m almost sleeping, I know...
by Helen Ivory | May 14, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
A Field Guide of Our Skin This invisible body is a lithe sacrament of flora, bluebell petals reel dizzily from our thick drench of pores, lilac deaths reek in our morning peeling. This ill-lit musculature of fungus is in a state of grace,...
by Helen Ivory | May 13, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Tzedaka box On Friday nights I slipped a coin through the thin lips of the blue box. It was satisfying to hear it clatter ; I could feed the tin but not myself. Sally Michaelson is a recently retired Conference Interpreter living in...
by Helen Ivory | May 12, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Today everything is on fire & it’s dangerous the wind claws crimson back & forth running across grass trees catch leaves ember & cinders *** I pray please rain save some green there’s a grasshopper poised for flight at the bottom of...
by Helen Ivory | May 11, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Where you took me I had never cut my fingernails; would only retouch occasional casualties – cracks on thumbs, hooks on index fingers, too long witch-like pinkies. Not once did I sit down with a pair of tiny curved scissors to trim down all ten....
by Helen Ivory | May 10, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
Cold Cream If there’s a record for the consumption of celluloid, you’ve made it a life goal to break and, of course, there is a record for everything on the planet from smallest fish consumed by a tiger to most daffodils snorted by a Catholic...
