by Helen Ivory | Aug 10, 2023 | Featured, Prose
Quince There is a quince tree in the Alice Munro short story The Moons of Jupiter, and also in the poem “Lunch With Pancho Villa” by Paul Muldoon. In the novel The Love of Singular Men, by the Brazilian author Victor Heringer, a mother beats her...
by Helen Ivory | Aug 7, 2023 | Featured, Prose
Breaking Bread with Strangers When the stranger came to my house, he brought bread. “Here,” he said, “You take it.” And then he sat down at the dinner table, waiting to be served. I placed the bread on a board. My wife brought in the brisket and...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 26, 2023 | Featured, Prose
The Holding The mute manager at the call centre where the operators sell lies sees a woman on Talbot Street sleeping on her tiptoes. She is arabesque, alert. He tells her all about the missold PPI, how she reminds him of the music box heroine from...
by Helen Ivory | Jul 13, 2023 | Featured, Prose
HUT EXIST 32 Something child There is a muttering in the hut, a miniature sandstorm whirled out of the doorway and spiralled into the curtain of evening. The something child ent gonna change. The something ent gonna get old. That and this are my...
by Prerana Kumar | Jun 30, 2023 | Featured, Prose
Canary Wharf Outside, in the plaza, men march forward. Women change from trainers to work heels. Gardeners rip out rows of wilting flowers. The news scrolls like a river round the Reuters building. No Police...
by Prerana Kumar | Jun 26, 2023 | Featured, Prose
Time to Go 5.03AM: Our Health starts to go at late middle age. Doctors hazard a guess at what’s wrong in the grey haze under the skin, but at some point they stop bothering. Whatever is slowing us down is left alone; the broken cogs don’t need...
