Translated from the Icelandic by Vala Thorodds

 

 

scissors

 

cut a piece from the eyelid of a son or daughter
and sew into one’s eyelids

cut a piece of a young female arse and add to
an older male arse

cut a piece from a lip and put in a secret place
on the body where few will find it

cut, exchange nipples

old gets a new one, new gets an old one
a son gets a father’s, a mother a son’s

put the spare nipple
of a deceased friend or animal
on one buttock

open possibilities in communication
grapple about things
grow together not apart

no end

 

 

 

headless morning

 

early one morning you receive in the post
the head of a man
damp with blood
on the doorstep

like the milk here before
like the morning papers of days gone by
like the letters in the envelopes

and the sound of a car engine grows distant

who wishes me ill?
you think at the same time as you
finger your neck

the sun and the morning songs of the birds
empty what’s left of the consciousness

 

 

 

 

Photograph © Брусника



The above poems are taken from Waitress in Fall by Kristín Ómarsdóttir, selected and translated from the Icelandic by Vala Thorodds, published by Carcanet and Partus Press in July 2018. Order your copy here.

 

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