Light Beams

Tags

amreading, amwriting, art, BosphorusReview of Books, children, colours, Flash Fiction, flowers, grandchildren, hospital, illness, images, light, light beams, loneliness, memories, muteness, nursing home, old age, paintings, paralysis, publication, scents, writerscommunity, yearning

My flash fiction story, Light Beams , is in the May Issue of The Bosphorus Review of Books. Many thanks to the Editor-in-Chief, Luke Frostic.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Thanks for reading! 🙂

https://bosphorusreview.com/light-beams

“Our cover this month is by our returning artist Dj Nio – Mammaliturki. find more of his work here https://www.djnio.net and listen to his latest music here https://soundcloud.com/nio_zeroplastica or here https://open.spotify.com/artist/0nKgLLvnDxOqzmxmBLrAl6…“

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Laundry

Tags

affair, birthday, Flash Fiction, flowers, Laundry, lavender, life, love, relationships, shirt, Spelk Fiction

My flash story Laundry is up at Spelk Fiction. Nice Christmas present. 🙂

Spelk

by Sebnem E. Sanders

I smell the freshness of your shirt when I bury my face in your chest. A hint of lavender takes me to an old Italian movie, a scene where people hang their laundry on the terrace. We play hide-and-seek between the big white sheets and rub sweaty hands on the cotton fabric.

Who irons your shirts like this? You never mentioned any one. I never asked. Omission is a sin. Lavender and heather won’t make up for it. Today, I ask the question that’s been roaming in my head for a while.

Your gaze drifts away and you mutter, “The one I took vows with.”

I step back. Clench my hands and shout, “Get the hell out of here and don’t come back.”

You look at me with pleading eyes, and linger, unsure.

“Out, now!” I command.

You hesitate, then turn around. Shoulders slumped, you drift…

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Sleep

Tags

altered-consciousness, colours, dreaming, flowers, fruits, grapes, new-dimension, pomegranate, reality, sleep

“Dreaming of Pomegranates” (1912)_by Felice Casorati, Italy

 

 

She sleeps on the grass

with a pomegranate in her hand

Drifting into the world of altered consciousness

she dreams of other fruit,

apples, apricots, peaches, oranges and tangerines

cherries, berries, plums, grapes and melons

that give the world the names of colours,

like the bed of wild flowers upon which she lies.

Her mind and body at peace,

nearly all her voluntary activities ceased.

A tranquil expression spreads upon her face,

she travels into another world

where the rules and dimensions are different.

Her eyelids flutter,

her lips curl into a smile,

she takes her lover’s hand

as they fly towards the green hills,

racing with feathered clouds

and the birds in the sky.

Her reality becomes the dream,

unaware which realm she belongs to.

When she awakes to birdsong,

her eyes drift to the bunches of purple grapes

hanging down from the vine above her.

The only remainder from the dream,

the pomegranate her lost lover gave to her,

from the orchards on the terraced hills.

She blinks,

presses the pomegranate to her heart,

closes her eyes,

and slips back into the dream.

 

 

 

Round

Tags

circle, curves, eggs, flowers, moon, planets, ripples, round, rounded over time, seeds, stars, sun, the head, wheel

Round, like the Earth, the planets and the stars,

the moon and many other moons in the universe,

ripples on the water, seeds in the soil,

rounded like the eggs that bear life,

a mother’s belly and a foetus that curls up inside.

The head, the eyes, the nostrils and the ear canals,

the mouth and all other cavities

on the human body are round.

The elements smooth out

the square, rectangular or triangular shapes

in nature over time,

except the pointed tips and edges of leaves

that fall down and curl up in Autumn,

and thorns of roses, other plants and weeds

whose flowers and petals still complete the theme.

Anything sharp and jagged must be rounded,

carved, or moulded into smoothness,

in time

to fit into the whole.

Is this what inspired mankind to invent the wheel,

and all other inventions inspired by the wheel?

Then if most things we see in life are round,

or rounded over time,

why are our ideas spiky,

intersected by straight lines

and diverted by sharp turns?

Why can’t we soften those angry angles and embrace it all,

like a fresh full circle,

where the beginning meets the end

and continues forever.