onsdag 16. mars 2011



losing seven aunts, all mine
seven aunts, unwed and untouched

with black headscarves and red-checked nylon dresses
selling birches for the womens’s guild and giving of themselves
inch by inch

as young girls they went to school for three weeks
in the fall and three weeks in the spring
and each day a resurrection

then they served after confirmation
on small farms

for the pilot in the fishing village, for the rich man on the moors
the oldest took care of her mother, knitted bed-spreads and read brorson
with a magnifying glass, the youngest engaged to a widower

until the spanish flu took him with it to the chapel

like magpies with silver spoons in their beaks
they flew along the roads, the aunts

let light into our houses
awoke what we’d forgotten in our sleep
with a birch at lent time

(HOMILIE from fluktlinjer 2000 translated into english by Veronika Bonaa)

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