by Helen Ivory | Jun 11, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
Fork not the kind you eat with but useful to turn the soil root out potatoes or carrots or anything that likes to lurk beneath the earth schlupp sturdy tines slide into soil its wooden handle heats up in your hand, swopping kinetic energy...
by Helen Ivory | Jun 10, 2025 | Featured, Poetry
My Father Bought a Signal Box dismantled it piece by piece then sold the wood, as a job lot. He found railway station drawings a monogrammed letter opener and a gold-nibbed ink pen which contained a withered bladder with the remnants of midnight...
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...
