by Ingunn Lára

outside, deep snow
chokes back my mother’s tears

the snow
muffles the slam
of the door

crimson blushed sky

no sign of a letter
written just past midnight

the middle child
hides under a duvet

the youngest can speak clearly
snow softens his stammer

somewhere buried
and forgotten:
the oldest
with a child under one arm
another on the way

sheet
whites out withered words

Translated by Ingunn Lára.

by Ingunn Lára

Francesca keeps Maria company
She helps her fold
all the clothes
he left behind
And the newspaper clippings of travels of old
to Stockholm and Luxemburg

Francesca and Maria swim in the river
She will lean to Maria
and Maria will accept
when it is night
and it is dark

Written in English.

by Ragnheiður Erla Björnsdóttir

he showed up at my door
holding a lullaby in his paw

a gorgeous beast raised
by fathers blue ties gold pins

his sick lungs strangled
he coughed blood on my groin

nailed a surgical mask
to my bathroom wall

he poured salt in my bath
for a healing

I boiled him jelly
from moss

a quarter hour
in a pint of milk

a glass bowlful
of my bare scalp. 

Translated by Meg Matich.

by Ragnheiður Erla Björnsdóttir

Búferli
Migration

We take off on a halcyon day
clumsily packed

fingers, frozen
disinfect
our bodies
from him

jettison the remnants
remove all traces

scour ourselves
out 

the house adorned
in guilt tumult
cleanlinoise 

but we arise
sigh light 

as if he has never touched mom

as if we are whole

Translated by Meg Matich.