If Movement Were a Language: Triptych – by Svetlana Sterlin

ISLAND | ISSUE 168

i.

no one would be as fluent as us / swimmers. gliding through what we know as air

density augmented. our shoulders feel / brunt of gym tiles Dad and i flipped

onto faded patchwork carpet. i still remember / miniature brick pattern of black

and grey. now hidden beneath those tiles / does our presence haunt them, woven

as it is / in those threads? does our sweat still simmer / underneath those rubber

squares? our backs still feel / blistered sky warming our ache.

ii.

sweat used to smell like chlorine to me. tears used to taste of it, too / Dad’s back

still aches with sudden weightlessness / redundant, his shoulders, too / been

months since he hunched / over a desk. since he left soaked shoes on pool deck

by the office door. now i return to earn / money he no longer can / and i find

everything still as we left it: stretch cords limp on their hooks / dried blood stains

just out of / water’s reach. crack in the tiles where / pool cover roller toppled

over. where Dad’s ache first pooled.

iii.

here is where his back cracked like the spine of a book / here is where i learn a

new language. if movement were that language / no one would be as fluent as

us / country hoppers, us / page flickers, us / pen wielders, us / keyboard masters,

us. tab and tab and / lines lap against the paper like pool water against the cracks.

Image: Serena Repice Lentini - Unsplash


This poem appeared in Island 168 in 2023. Buy your print copy.

Svetlana Sterlin

Svetlana Sterlin writes poetry, prose, and screenplays in Meanjin. Her writing has recently been recognised in the Helen Anne Bell Award, the Richell Prize and the Queensland Young Writers Award. She has poetry and short fiction in Westerly, takahē, Meanjin, Cordite, and elsewhere. A swimming coach and former swimmer, she makes most things about swimming, including her online publication swim meet lit mag.

https://linktr.ee/svetlanasterlin
Previous
Previous

Light hazard – by Sophie Overett

Next
Next

The perfect human – by Niki Bañados