by Helen Ivory | Jun 9, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
at the drop-and-go we hug and i act cool as the american fridge ice shattering on kitchen tiles lift my case from the boot practice my cold show face drain emotion like wine from the christmas market we bought crepes at dropped a claw over a...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 8, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
I no longer prioritise, I choose who to disappoint that day I’m a cardboard loo roll with one sheet left wet grounds scraped from the coffee pot a biro tip scratching at paper in circles. Scrolling through my inbox I hold down the shift key, select all...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 7, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Hope lies like the edge of a teaspoon, upward facing, a thickness perhaps enough solidness to knife through a banana or other soft fruit for safety for a baby or to get under the edge of the surface tension of the skin of a grape to start a peel....
by Helen Ivory | Jun 6, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
3am a wooden door slams shut in my brain a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago (I travel on my mother’s electric waves that held their spoken words’ shape) I am sorry that the thud left a hole in your...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 5, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Stonevale When I was born the house was full of stones, an old blacksmiths shed. Rubble became walls, became home. I used a brush as tall as me to brush debris, dust, oyster shells. In my blue gingham dress and boots. We lived down from the...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 4, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Homeland And if a land loses its people and they are exiled will a land feel their absence will it dream of their calloused feet on its warm skin will it grieve the touch of hands familiar with the ways of its...
