Sinkings
A tenuous link between the corporeal and spiritual forms the backdrop of Haukur Ingvarsson s poem about our relationship to the changing natural world, from his 2018 collection Ecostentialism.
has its own topography
in the inner ear
for some reason I feel
this must be Denmark
and glistens on white teeth
when she tilts
V
should I scrub the tank?
is the water too cruddy?
with unwelcome life?
should I set them free?
I have a secret
I saw the wreck
down to the wreck
into that deep down darkness
and unlock secrets
I’d mix myself a drink
I must be dreaming
Magma
Warning: This text includes descriptions of intimate partner abuse and may be disturbing to readers.
In this excerpt from Thora Hjörleifsdóttir’s debut novel, Magma
, a woman narrates the evolution of an abusive relationship.
Chlamydia
I didn’t know it would be such a big deal; it’s not like it’s incurable. Nobody’s going to die. We’ll take antibiotics and then, ten days later, it’ll be gone. But now he thinks I’m a total slut. And I must be, since I’ve infected people. But I think he’s being unfair. It shouldn’t matter this much. He acts like I’ve rejected him because I’ve been with other men. We weren’t together when I went to Central America; we’d gone on one date and I hadn’t even slept with him. I was traveling alone, so I slept around because I had nothing better to do and I needed to fill in the gaps. I didn’t know that something would grow between us; in fact, I thought it’d never happen, but I became more and more take
The Husband and His Brother
After his wife’s sudden departure, Böddi speaks to his brother over coffee in this story about regret, love, and family by Björn Halldórsson.
Jóhann was the first to stand up when the phone rang. He was glad for the interruption. His in-laws were over for dinner and they’d been talking politics. They were finishing their coffee, along with pieces of expensive dark chocolate that Ella, his wife, had arranged on a decorative plate. He’d just gotten the kids in bed and hurried into the hall to answer before the ringing aroused their curiosity. “Hello!”
In Human-Made Society
Eva Rún Snorradóttir illuminates lesbian parenthood and partnership in this poem from the 2018 Maístjarnan Award-winning collection Seeds that Impregnate the Darkness.
Two women sit on a little sofa in an office on the outskirts of the capital. Across from them, behind a desk, sits an elderly man in a white coat. A map showing the inner topography of the vagina is plastered on the wall behind him. They’d argued with the cab driver on the way. He’d been driving a cab for thirty years and thought it best to take the route along the coast, like he’d always done. We’re running late to make a baby, too late to be polite and deferential to a thirty-year career.