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...
by Helen Ivory | May 9, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
what is missing is touch — is cotton to wool, sheer to slub is holding hands is hug — forms moulding each to each, body to body rise to hollow what is missing is skin warm against cool, is the cheek-scuff of familiar stubble is rough sunbrown...
by Helen Ivory | May 8, 2020 | Featured, Poetry
On the Dangers of Re-entry on my long list is the “borderline” thing— it is said that there are few male versions of the species (my experiences in group therapy can attest to this) maybe most are locked up— a fate I’m not sure how I managed to...
