Ink Sweat and Tears

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

After the forest fireBecause we were fourand I only had strength to carry oneand knew no other wayI carried the one who called out loudest;threatened us most. You two were left to walk behindin the dust of hot, dry summer andthe heavy mud of winter and spring. Perhaps I thought you’d learn the land –more likely, I just hoped we’d be OK. That morning found us silent, slumpedamong the charred remains of trees. The flames, too, were spent after such a night.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

The InspiringAs you rummage of a morningamong dust-furred personal effectsjumbled in an oldwooden suitcase under a bedand seeming to belong to no-one,you find a womanabout whom the world, if it eversupposed at all, supposedonly that she quietly got by,has remained hidden for decadesin the shape of a bookof hand-written ballads, or ina crackly recordingof fiddle music or song.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

Lines Written in Early SpringThe Lake District Tourist Boardhas had no input into whatyou are now reading, but I somiss Cumbria in Holy Week;late March or early April; snowon the tops or a cold sun vyingwith a cold wind; congregationsof chaotic lambs and their beseechings;but not this year. There is a tugIn my heart that may just bethe reminder of some missed statinsor else a recurrence of the oldtwinge as when the M6 northboundsidesteps neatly west into the A591.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

Red as a fairytaleWho will pick the apples now she’s gone? Orchards of eaters, cookers, some red-fleshedthat she’d harvest and lay on racks,then gather those on the ground, struggledown with bag-loads to dump on my doorstep. No note. As if they’d blown here. Windfalls. Just cut away the bad bits, she’d sayif I rang, and I’d stew them to a pale pulp,pinkish if any were red to their core. Red was her colour: flamboyant dresses,fandango-dancing, castanet-snapping,painted nails, laughing scarlet lips.

1 week ago | inksweatandtears.co.uk | Helen Ivory

The Girl with Goldfish Under Her SkinShe has few secrets with her translucent map skin of blue underground rivers visible to scale. Contours of overlapping knots oblivious to each other and to you – mesmerised by the girl with goldfish under her skin. Perhaps, you reflect, we all have goldfish, but we’ve never thought of looking for them. You make a mental note to check when you get home. But you will forget.