Dorthe Nors - So Much for That Winter

Minna with a future before her, but

Elisabeth rings loudly in the pack.

Elisabeth’s on Minna’s trail.

Minna refuses to yield.

Minna fumbles in her pocket for the address.

Minna’s going to live in a room with a tea kitchen.

The room has a view over the harbor.

The landlady’s a friend of a friend.

Minna is not hoping that the landlady’s gregarious.

Minna wants to be alone in the Baltic.

Minna stands quietly on the square.

Minna sees people everywhere.

The people are speaking Copenhagen dialect.

The people are looking for a ceramist.

Minna stands in the people’s way.

Minna must make way.

Minna wheels her suitcase forward and back.

Minna’s in the midst of a transport tsunami.

The lodgings in this case are not lacking.

Half-timbering goes with everything.

The foundation is Bornholm granite.

The room has a table, sofa, and bed.

The room isn’t missing a thing, au contraire.

The room has latticed windows with geraniums.

Minna’s rubbed the scented leaves between her fingers.

Minna’s said hello to the landlady.

The landlady was in her midforties.

The landlady bore the mark of tourism.

Minna said that she had to quote work during her stay.

Minna’s used that trick before.

People with projects are left in peace.

Minna has one end of the house.

The door between Minna and the landlady is locked.

Nobody’ll come barging in, the landlady assured her.

That’s great, and yet it isn’t anyway.

The landlady’s got a dog.

The dog bays.

The dog’s bayed ever since the landlady left to do her shopping.

Minna sees the dog before her:

The dog’s muzzle pointed skyward.

The dog’s lower lip pushed forward.

The dog’s eyes squinting ceilingward.

The dog doesn’t want to be alone.

Minna’s just on the other side of the landlady’s locked door.

The dog can hear Minna.

The dog doesn’t understand that Minna can’t rescue it.

Minna’s hushed the dog through the keyhole.

Minna’s acted as if she’s gone to the grocery store.

The dog isn’t fooled by cheap tricks.

The dog has nothing to do but complain about the program.

Minna puts her earplugs into action.

Minna sits in a soundproof bubble.

Minna can hear her breathing in the bubble.

Minna’s lungs puff quietly.

Minna’s pulse vibrates.

Minna closes her eyes and listens.

The ocean buzzes in Minna’s veins.

The ocean calls from Minna’s interior.

The ocean’s outside the window, but

The ocean’s inside Minna too.

Minna sits with the sea inside.

Minna ought to go for a walk, she knows.

Svaneke awaits outside and lovely.

People circle like good-natured sharks.

Minna should walk past them and out to a cliff, but

Minna’s deaf and listens.

Minna’s interior is a rehash of memories.

Minna paddles around in the old days.

Minna feels her body shifting.

Minna’s senses are returning.

Hands down through the sand.

Hands up toward the gulls.

Dad’s hand and Minna’s.

The blue delta of Dad’s hand.

The sea rises in Minna.

The sea finds fissures in Minna.

Minna’s leaky.

Minna opens her eyes and blinks.

The sea trickles slowly.

The sea reaches land.

The beads of gravel rattle.

Minna blows her nose.

Minna should find herself a cliff.

Minna and Bergman should walk out onto the cliff and sit.

Minna shouldn’t do anything else.

Minna feels like Gunvor’s peeping in the window.

The geraniums block the inward view.

Bornholm’s relatively large.

The likelihood’s small, but

Minna peeks out from behind a plant.

Svaneke Harbor rocks with boats.

The tourists balance glass plates.

The tourists turn the corner in sensible shoes.

The tourists position themselves willingly in line.

The cliffs are out there.

The cliffs are warm from the day’s sun.

Minna runs a hand across her face.

Minna opens her backpack.

Bergman’s lying down there.

Dread makes the dreaded real, he repeats.

Minna nods.

Minna closes her eyes.

Minna whispers out into the lodgings: Now the dog howls no more.

The dog’s done with playing forsaken.

The dog’s shut its mouth.

The dog lies in its basket.

The dog begs for its ball.

The dog has nothing more to say about its situation.

Minna removes the earplug on the right side.

Minna listens with her head cocked.

The dog howls.

The dog howls skyward.

Minna’s crawled out as far as she can go.

Minna sits on the blanket she brought.

The granite drills up gently into her buttock.

The gulls have set up camp on a couple cliffs farther out.

Christiansø is a seed on the horizon.

Christiansø beckons with its outpost nature.

Minna doesn’t want to be any farther out now.

Minna just wants to sit here.

Minna wants to drink her coffee with Bergman.

The waves smack gently against the cliff.

The world smells of seaweed.

Minna sits and is doing fine.

Minna comes to think of Vagn.

Minna took a first-aid course of Vagn’s.

Minna’s never rescued anyone, but

Vagn knew all about hurt people.

Vagn said, Hold their hand!

Vagn said, Bodily contact helps the injured!

Vagn said, Caresses and calm speech’ll pass the time.

The ambulance’ll get there sooner or later.

A human being could use another human in the meantime.

A small hand is enough!

Minna looks around her circle of acquaintances.

The circle of acquaintances can’t get a hand through the shield.

The circle of acquaintances can’t get skin on skin.

Minna considers her hand.

Minna doesn’t need to play pious.

Minna’s hand has withdrawn from the struggle.

Minna’s hand hasn’t touched anyone since Lars.

Lars was so real under the duvet.

Lars was so gentle down there.

Lars dared in the dark, but

The light demands trend awareness.

Minna’s not trendy.

Minna’s soft and warm every day.

The everyday doesn’t cut it.

Minna takes her hand from the sea and sticks it in her mouth.

The sea tastes good.

The lighthouse towers behind her.

Årsdale nestles to the south.

Christiansø is Denmark’s remotest enclave.

This rock’s a rehearsal space, thinks Minna.

The gulls are the only ones present.

Minna can make noise the way she wishes.

Minna feels something slipping far below.

Minna’s belly grows in capacity.

The lungs become bellows.

The throat a swan’s.

The voice full of rust.

Minna’s needed rehearsal space, but

Bornholm’s big.

Bornholm has no objection if Minna warbles a trill.

The song has light, Minna sings.

Minna doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but it persists.

The song has warmth, she sings.

Minna recalls the folk high school now.

The song has eternity.

Minna thinks it’s a strange song.

Minna sings the song anyway.

Minna’s voice rises plumb upward.

The voice is like a beanpole.