She should be where her children play
She sits outside in rain and snow with cardboard cup to tell us how she left her family behind to feed them from the coins we throw. But people pass […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
No Mint Julep for Rufus
Face the color of ripe plum and starched shirt plastered to an obese body. “It’s time for my mint julep” Rufus voice broke into falsetto cutting the afternoon silence. He […]
The beachcomber’s wife
The silent halo of a yawning sun dies in muddy, murky afternoon; as orange embers paint the sea. a moaning surge that lick the shore can bear the burden of […]
The menace of mysterious desks
The whispers from the waiting dust lingers in a thankful smell of faded ornamental objects resting peacefully on shady cloths. Flabby ghosts of Christmas passed place foggy kisses of neglect […]
Fleece his skinless heart
A tumbled clown, alone emitting choking bursts of tears; instilling our laughter. Behind his painted mask, a sealing scab — a scar to be it fills another open wound with […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 