SmallChange

We are at the edge of the woods where I go for walks she is a foreigner Here in Norway she says licking her lips Do you leave your babies out in the cold to sleep? Steam rises between us and escapes she hugs her purse strap for warmth for some reason she seems afraid Yes I say we do Every day we carry our babies in blankets crocheted by an elderly relative whose name we no longer speak but suck on like raw resin The thread must be made of silk mixed with horse's hair the horse must be dead, of course the silk can be imported it's easier to get these days We must turn north and our babies' heads must point eastward we must walk all the w

It was late at night and the darkness had already begun to seep in through the windows of the tavern where I sat entertaining a group of local men with one of my countless stories from one of my just as countless travels. Candles and lanterns were placed on tables all about and threw a warm glow across the dark paneled walls and the thick beams in the ceiling. From outside came the thin whisper of bats in flight, and down at the harbour a late night fog had gathered, ready to spread itself out across the bay come morning. I had just started another story when the tavern door creaked open and a figure in a long coat with a deep hood entered th

Measured carefully: egg yolks in a French kitchen our lives' brief seconds

We drove there in a car so old it warbled thin, squeaky prayers for mercy and arrived at the room where the plaice skinned woman lay under flowering feathers the sheer face greeted us and she grasped for the moon with birch twig hands on the table a vase of blushing heather we came back out winter had laid its shroud over the mountains ~~~ Vi kjørte dit i en bil så gammel at den kvitret tynne, pipende bønner om nåde og kom frem til rommet der kvinnen med rødspettehud lå under blomstrende dun det flortynne ansiktet hilste og hun grep etter månen med nakne bjørkekvisthender på bordet en vase med rødmende lyng vi kom ut vinteren hadde