by Elías Knörr

Queer mourners
rest beside the coffin
and fall asleep

natural though it might be
to simply say thanks and go home
no interest in further exchanges
                             after the ceremony

but they are so professionally
                                  and so exhaustingly
                                         sentimental

and yet,
no more servile
       than other workers 

the late customer needs closeness
and holds himself still as the grave

Translated by Meg Matich.
Originally appeared in EuropeNow journal.

by Elías Knörr

I invited the biologist into my back garden
he marveled at the lightbulbs
and took to dancing like a night moth

ye are naked
I see your secrets radiate
like orgasms
            he said 

ye are drunk I said

but not blind
            he said

and continued to examine me 

Untitled poem, translated by Meg Matich.
Originally appeared in EuropeNow journal.

by Elías Knörr 

Two housewives dance on a clothesline
lovemaking funambulists

One is a silk butterfly
the other, a cotton flower

Under the influence of the cleaning
             they write poems on the laundry 

Untitled poem, translated by Meg Matich.
Originally appeared in EuropeNow journal.

by Soffía Bjarnadóttir

Watch the sky
crash into the sea

marvel
at the infinite falling
black stones

the world, floating.

Untitled poem, translated by Meg Matich.
Originally appeared in EuropeNow journal.