Not even his name
“Fifty years of public service”, my father sighed. His hand moved slowly, tracing the edge of the crystal bowl. I didn’t know what to say. “They couldn’t even spell my […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
A pesky pebble
I once put a pebble into my nose polished, a piece of the sea, one of those lucky-charm-things, best among stones. Inside, it was lost becoming part of my bones. […]
Laburnum and rain
It wasn’t the rain that evening in June, but the glare of laburnum, and his arms with your laughter. I watched you move closer; while closing your eyes. It wasn’t […]
Achilles’ fall
We called him hero, muscles-bulging-stud, stallion, wrestler, runner, hunk of playboy jack of spades, winner and the nation’s hope. … until we saw his heel, the mark of needles, weakness […]
How to be polite
You told me of your rights You told me to be polite to men. When I said nay, you said “obey”. I beg your pardon but — Is it insolence […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 