by Svetlana Sterlin
Years later, I don’t know how many,
the slope to the Aquatic Centre remains
bookmarked in my memory of this place.
Next week I move out of home;
lease period starts today. In Launceston
the rocks on the beach change shape
beneath our very feet. Not all thoughts
are true, my [……..] once told me.
In the harbour, a cormorant plashes
atop the waves. We are haunted
most, I think, by the things we have
never done. My old self too young
to find enjoyment here, to toss coins
into the wishing well in Franklin’s Square,
not yet dried out like the fountain
but algaed. How many decades
since anyone bothered to check
for donations? To take them
to the charity house? When I turn
my attention back to those waters
the cormorant has gone.
Svetlana Sterlin writes prose, poetry, and screenplays in Meanjin. A swimming coach and former swimmer, much of her work draws inspiration from in and around the pool (including her online publication, swim meet lit mag). Her debut poetry collection, If Movement Was a Language, won the 2023 Helen Anne Bell Poetry Bequest Award and is available now with Vagabond Press. You can find her words in Island, Westerly, Cordite, the Australian Poetry Anthology, and elsewhere.
Hyades Magazine 