Dorthe Nors - So Much for That Winter

A vacuum cleaner wouldn’t hurt, Elisabeth says.

Minna nods.

Aarhus is still on the map, Elisabeth says.

Minna nods.

Dad got to be old as the hills.

Minna nods.

Life goes on.

Minna nods.

It’s really late, her sister says.

Minna nods and nods and nods.

Elisabeth’s demons lie on the nightstand.

Minna can’t sleep.

The demons sneak about in the dark.

The demons reek of soot.

Minna switches on the light and opens the door to the kitchen stairs.

Minna goes down into the backyard and its twilight.

The man in number eight’s watching soccer.

The woman in number four’s having sex.

The stars twinkle.

The trash can gapes.

Minna casts the demons from her and closes the lid.

Minna opens the lid again.

Minna jams the book under a bag.

It’s not enough.

Minna jams it farther down.

Minna can feel the trash around her hand.

Minna feels the trash’s soft and hard parts.

Minna gets damp fingers.

Minna gets her upper arm in.

Minna thinks of vets and midwives.

Minna’s as deep down as she can get.

Minna releases the book.

The book’s wedged in there deep down.

Minna hauls back her damp arm.

Minna averts her face from the stench.

Minna presses the lid down hard.

The man in number eight scores.

The woman in number four ditto.

Minna goes back upstairs.

Minna scrubs herself.

Minna goes to bed.

Minna can’t sleep.

You never know with demons.

Demons are parasites.

Parasites need individuals.

Minna knows that.

Minna’s an individual herself.

Minna’s one individual among millions.

Minna’s a gnu on the savannah.

Minna’s a herring in a barrel, but even worse:

Minna places her hands across her eyes.

Minna feels something: Is that hair?

Minna slips out to the mirror.

Minna places her face against it, and there she is:

Minna with fur on her face.

Minna in a wild stampede.

Minna on her way over the cliff edge.

The sea waiting below.

Death by drowning.

Her paws paddling and paddling.

The paws can’t do it, they can’t.

The orchestra plays a hymn.

Minna can no longer sing.

Minna sinks quietly toward the bottom.

Minna doesn’t struggle at all.

Minna doesn’t understand it herself.

Minna tells her mirror image, Swim then, God damn it, but

Minna doesn’t swim.

The sun’s shining.

Jette’s placed the paper across her knee.

The paper’s opened to the culture section.

The front page of the culture section is full of a woman.

The woman’s Linda Lund.

Minna balances two cups of coffee.

Jette’s busy smoothing out the paper.

Minna’s having a hard time getting her legs to bend.

Minna glances at the mermaid’s gaping gaze.

Minna glances at Linda.

Linda fills most of the front page.

Linda’s shot with an out-of-focus lens.

Linda’s mouth is slightly open.

Linda’s eyes are deep and alert.

Linda sits and strokes her guitar.

The guitar no longer plays Segovia.

The guitar plays wistful pop.

People love wistful pop.

The guitar’s positioned between Linda’s legs.

People love Linda’s legs.

Minna has goblins in her diaphragm.

Minna turns green.

Minna’s terrible to photograph.

Minna’s better in person, but

Linda looks lovely in the paper.

Minna can’t breathe.

Minna’s throat stings.

Jette rustles the paper excessively.

Jette lifts it up.

The paper’s right in Minna’s face.

Minna sees what Jette wants to show her:

Lars has written the article.

Lars has made the article fill seven columns.

Lars has used the word sensual in the headline.

Minna looks toward Christianshavn.

Jette knocks back her coffee.

Things are going well for Linda, Jette says.

Minna’s tongue feels cold as bronze.

Minna’s body starts shutting down.

The face chilly.

The heart pounding.

The larynx a clenched fist.

Nothing comes out.

Jette asks, How’s Lars, really?

Minna’s fingers tighten around her coffee.

Jette asks, Do you still see each other?

Minna has sat down but can’t remain sitting.

Minna gets up and hops around a bit.

Minna has to pee.

Minna has to go to the john twice a day on average when she’s at the Royal Library.

Minna wants to tell someone about her broken heart.

Minna feels pain in the solar plexus of her soul.

Minna needs a hot-water bottle.

Finn answers the phone.

Finn wants to chat.

Finn’s a birdwatcher.

Finn’s seen a bittern.

Finn knows where the nightingale lives.

Minna asks for Mom.

Mom comes to the phone.

Mom’s glad to hear from her.

Minna’s just about to cry, but

Mom and Finn have been to the Skaw.

Mom and Finn saw someone famous in a car.

Mom and Finn took a hike on Grenen.

The wind was blowing sand.

The sand got into everything.

Mom says that she misses Minna.

Mom feels like it’s been a long time.

The clump in Minna’s throat gets bigger.

The clump’s a doorstop.

Minna can’t say anything.

Mom goes quiet on the other end.

Mom and Minna are quiet together.

Minna whispers that she’ll definitely come visit.

It won’t be long, Minna says.

Mom says that of course they could come to Copenhagen.

Time’s one thing we’ve got plenty of.

Minna doesn’t like that Mom says we.

Minna says they’d be very welcome.

Minna says we should go to Copenhagen, Mom says.

Finn’s indistinct in the background.

Mom laughs.

Mom tells her about the geraniums.

The geraniums are thriving in the east-facing windows.

The geraniums have an acrid scent in the sun.

The geraniums get photographed.

The geraniums get posted on the web.

Minna should go in and see.

Minna promises to look at Mom’s blog.

Minna keeps her promise.

Mom’s blog is kept rose pink.

Mom’s blog is mostly photos, but

Text sneaks its way in between the geraniums.

Mom’s written about her daughters on the blog.

The daughters live far away in Copenhagen.

The elder one’s married to an optician.

The younger is unwed.

Mom isn’t a grandma.

You can’t get everything you wish for, Mom writes.

Minna stares at the text.

The text is more intimate than Mom’s Christmas letter to the family.

The text is more naked than Minna’s seen Mom in reality.

Nobody really reads it anyhow, Mom must’ve thought.

Somebody might read it by accident, Mom must’ve thought.

Both thoughts had appealed.

It started small.

It began as a lift of the skirt.

It took root gradually.

The web’s become a diary for Mom.

Mom starts to versify.

Mom writes haiku.

Mom lets it all hang out.

The geraniums are pink and demure, but

Mom’s stark naked.

Minna hastens to shut it off.

Minna considers calling up the Senior Club.

The Senior Club ought to explain the gravity to seniors.

The web’s a jungle.