Glade
by Kristín Eiriksdóttir
I lay there looking into her face
felt her warmth
her breath in time with mine,
followed her gaze.
She was looking at a bust of Lenin next to a fern.
I know she didn’t see Lenin.
I followed her gaze,
through the bust of Lenin,
past the fern.
In the glade is a scene
from a Tarkovsky movie
shot in Siberia,
except in the distance, there’s a wild peacock,
its head in the air
fanning out its feathers.
The women
veiled mothers and daughters
don’t notice anything,
never see one another,
their gazes turned inward,
back toward the glade.
Translated by Larissa Kyzer.
Untitled
by Kristín Eiriksdóttir
and so
fall sheets of paper
and so
the meat becomes visible
and so
it cracks just a little
and so
it’s all sucked out
and so
a body is found
just as a child disappears
and so
nakedness becomes normal
and so
abnormal again
and so
the drawing of the body glows
and so
the drawing of the body is burned on the body
and so
it burns through the body
then
the dry grass reaches from chin to collarbone
someone draws scorch marks
and a few pass through the scorch marks
and then
scorch marks turn into drawings
and so
drawings burn
and so
bodies trapped in drawings burn
and so
the ashes become crispy black and broken
then ashes swirl
and so
a bud appears
and so
it blooms
and so
it climbs
and so
it chimes
Translated by Larissa Kyzer.
On the Tray
by Kristín Ómarsdóttir
maidens dunk fishtails and flukes in the pool
— tepid water gilds and colors them — striped balls
in a striped chair a woman combs her bed hair
and brings me news from the fascist television channel
the lips work effortlessly, heaped sugarspoon sentences
the same color as the veins on the back of her hand
the trees in the garden play, they checkmate the sky
on the tray, the radio sings : please, forget me not
Translated by Lytton Smith.
The Colors in my Dollhouse
by Kristín Ómarsdóttir
the floor light green
the walls tinfoil
the couches pink
my tongue is green
my eyes hollow
a stranger leads me out the bedroom
Translated by Lytton Smith.