A Poem: Her Amber Necklace

amber stones that form the shape of a necklace

Her Amber Necklace

 

my mothers dead

my mothers dead my brother said

he jumped in the air and

clicked his heels together

 

her children and grandchildren

and great grandchildren all came

jumping and bouncing

on forbidden chairs

 

we all laughed

 

now

distant lights scatter black night

a bus rumbles up Bondi Road

clock ticks in the empty kitchen

only the ticking

then

a dog barks outside

 

her woollen jumper warms me

her amber necklace hugs my neck

 

Copyright © Libby Sommer

First published ‘The Thirteenth Floor’ XIV UTS Writers Anthology

Header Image:  Creative Commons

 

 

 

 

 

Fortnightly Story: Painstaking Progress

painting of two lovers
Credit: Creative Commons

‘Painstaking Progress’

by Libby Sommer

first published in Quadrant

 

 

 

One can never change the past, only the hold it has on you.  And while nothing in your life is reversible, you can reverse it nevertheless – Merle Shain.

1.

I’m imagining a cloudy autumn morning.  There’s a room.  Half office, half bedroom.  Not too large and not too small.  The windows of the room face east and look out towards the ocean across the expanse of a green gully.

I picture a woman sitting on a bed with pillows behind her back.  The windows are open.  Perhaps it is Saturday morning.  On the bedside table is a mug of tea and a photograph of the woman’s daughter on her wedding day.

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Fortnightly Story: Tango

a man and a woman giving a tango performance
Credit: Creative Commons Images

 Tango is a passionate dance.  A conversation between two people in which they can express every musical mood through steps and improvised movement.  (Source Unknown)

1.

Just before nine o’clock in the evening, Sofya gets out of her car and looks up at the sky.  She has sensed a shift in the weather.  There is another breath of wind, a whispering in the air, but the clouds are stagnant against the dark night.  She turns and moves downhill towards the club, ejecting the chewing gum out of her mouth with a loud splat into the bushes, feels the first drops of rain on her bare arms.  She passes the public phone box where frangipanis lie on the grass, picks one up, sniffs at it, throws it back, then quickly enters the club.  Continue reading