Ómarsdóttir Kristín - Waitress in fall: poems
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We may keep the home fire burning,or we may burn the house down;we may stay home, burning inwardly,or we may take off in a conflagrationof self-assertion. We watch the firesof destruction, of desire, and ofambition, and wonder what we canrisk, and what we might gain. LAUREN ELKIN , Flneuse
Like fire that burns the field, preparesit for crops, let the mind be seared byfailure into readiness. SASHA WEST , Agriculture Begins
OUR HOUSE IS FULL OF FOG
My cunt tastes like a prawn. Breasts white and soft like fish cheeks. My legs are sprigs always wiggling! * I am a brand-new runner girl with fire in the pit of my stomach and my knees in stitches. Completely newgrown grew up last year! Dad calls me a flower and mum doesnt understand a thing. No! I am not a dry doughnut you eat with milk. I am a mussel, prawn and fish cheek.
A new potato in fall buttered, with salt. Skin ice-cold milk; sometimes tepid sometimes steamed. * And my nostrils dog-like sniff you and sniff you out. I know where we will be found
The air hums and rubber lances swish going down, down underground. The rain grows. On the endless silence of man. No god no soul under the curtain of trees. Above us is the river, might and ocean there sail kayaks and rafts. Above us is the river Ophelia on three wings bathes herself and rolls slowly to one side.
Our mud-caked journey down a narrow path. The rain grows. The boles strike at my heart. You sniff out my every step. The boles strike at my heart.
Native religious ceremonies hidden under trees. The trucks of the city ascend the sky. Through the narrow glade I beware of you but call to you in silence. Your eyes those of the bird say: do something! And I rush into the greenery, never look at you again.
Dig up out of each other the cries of the animal. The rain grows under the leaf crowns. I stretch your lips. You colour my cheeks. Drink the fear in my eyes. Tongue and Silence
On my wet dripping wet silence sawdust.
It bursts! in your palm only there. * Anoint my sleep and breast with your tongue and promises of cautious fingers. * And praise me! say: you do well and praise me! into sleep into sleep with you: that I do not walk woodlands searching for you, with you . Come close, take my head too! give my thought a hand, touch my tenderness, and praise me! and permit me to sleep under you.
Murmur, and a skinny cable quivering and still within earshot a whimper. * Birds kept vigil over us and still I wake inside you. And follow you to mountains and home pastures hidden under a wing. But only for a brooks babble and hollow, tongue and throat.
That I be able to speak and your windows be decorated with vines and blue spruce and you weave me in nets and undress, caress my slimy flesh and lick and the heat fog of your house wipes out the slog in the puddles of oblivion and in the vigilance of morning: fingerprints and words.
WAITRESS AT AN OLD RESTAURANT
They act as curtains when I sleep and curtains while I wake. My love, if I die.
When he touches one of them they are already dead. And dont come back to life. Though they await his kisses. Then he stands up, takes hold of the touched one and carries her out. The current of air when the door opens and closes turns the pages of the books of all three.
I snapped on a mask (leather) and spoke to you. With a wig I departed for town to meet others. (you were taking a bath, give me a moment, I always get hysterical when I think about you in the bath, just a moment) And I returned home with a pearl-trimmed heart. (sewed it myself) Long nails. (of course I counted the days) Red lips in the left and right palm: give me treats treat me good they said to you on the doorstep as I returned.
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