by Dorthe Nors
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 t
he gravity to seniors.
The web’s a jungle.
The jungle’s full of monkeys.
Monkeys love the excrement of others.
Lars has had Linda on the front page.
Elisabeth’s been in the Bookstore of the Unknown.
Jette sits on the quay.
Mom’s on the web too often.
Dad’s dead.
Lars has fur on his face, but
Lars’s fur isn’t quite like Minna’s.
Minna’s fur is a metaphor.
Lars’s fur is real.
Minna’s studied portraits.
Lars and Dad have a beard in common, but
Lars smelled of Aqua Velva.
Dad of salt.
Minna’s looked at the map of Denmark.
Aarhus nestles in Marselisborg Forest.
Amager’s on the other end of the country, or
Amager’s in the middle of the country, or
Amager in any case is quiet for a brief moment.
The quiet makes room.
The quiet makes a dome over a moment’s clarity.
The clarity lays bare a person.
The person is Minna herself.
Minna hasn’t seen her own person for a long time.
Minna’s person has split ends.
Minna’s person has bags.
The person’s hand trembles quietly.
The person’s mouth hangs open.
Minna can hear a faint hum.
Minna thinks, I used to sing …
Minna gives herself the once-over.
Minna benefits from the examination.
Time now for a little holiday.
Other people aren’t to join the holiday.
Minna hasn’t been to Bornholm since she was fourteen.
Bornholm’s almost Sweden.
Bornholm’s in the opposite direction.
Bornholm’s an island.
Bornholm’s well suited to mental catharsis.
Lars will be forgotten.
The family’ll have to take care of itself.
The family can take care of itself.
Minna orders a ticket to Ystad.
Minna wants to develop the ability to sort people.
Minna wants an asshole filter.
Minna no longer wants to be a host species.
Minna takes Bergman along.
Bergman can ride in the backpack.
Minna’s sitting on the train to Ystad.
Minna’s feeling chipper.
Minna’s running away from it all.
Minna’s breaking from the pack.
The pack is evil.
Minna doesn’t want to be part of them.
Minna also feels melancholy.
Minna was sure it was something you grew out of.
Minna thought as a kid, As soon as I grow up, but
Grown-ups are kids who have lots to hide.
Dumb kids turn into dumb grown-ups.
Evil kids = evil grown-ups.
Minna gets the connection.
Minna walks around among ordinary people.
Ordinary people cheat on their taxes.
Ordinary people go to swinger clubs.
Ordinary people flee the scene of the crime.
Ordinary people enlist in the Nordland Regiment of the SS.
Ordinary people are quislings, collaborators, camp followers.
Ordinary people just need a stage.
The pig performs gladly.
Cowards are in good supply too.
Minna doesn’t get how she could have ignored it.
Minna’s clear-sighted enough.
Minna’s watched TV.
Minna followed the war in the Balkans.
Minna watched neighbors out each other to Serbian militias.
One day you’re tending cabbage together in the backyard.
The next you’re on a bus headed for a mass grave.
Your best friend’s a chameleon.
Evil’s a state that can be conjured up.
Evil exists.
Minna supposes she’s tarred with the same brush.
Karin isn’t exactly without stain either.
Elisabeth is family.
Lars could’ve been.
Minna realizes that it’s all about sorting.
Minna’s got to judge people one at a time.
Minna wants to learn not to trust.
That’s all going to be over now.
The last narcissist’s gotten her to clap.
The last Jutlander’s taken up residence in her in-box.
The last nymphomaniac.
The last reporter.
Indian demons.
Billy goats.
Kamikaze pilots.
Thieves in the night:
It’s over!
Minna feels her backbone grow.
Minna’s backbone sends out roots and shoots.
Minna’s backbone blossoms.
Minna looks out upon the southern Swedish landscape.
The landscape drifts past like a fog.
Grown-ups are kids who become like animals, Minna thinks.
Minna tries dozing.
The train’s got a school camp on board.
The school camp’s blocked all exits.
The teacher screams that the school camp has to settle down a bit.
The teacher screams, SO SIT DOWN, FREDERIK!
The teacher screams, THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE ON THE TRAIN!
That might be so, Minna thinks, but
Bergman’s the only human on the train.
Bergman lies on her lap.
Dread makes the dreaded real.
That’s true—or …
Minna listens to the school camp.
Minna dreaded not having a kid.
The school camp relieves the fear.
Kids are sweet, but
Kids reflect their parents’ seamy side.
Bergman knows that.
Bergman had nine kids.
Bergman had to make films to get away from his kids.
Minna shouldn’t be down in the mouth.
Anne Marie Carl-Nielsen is also along on the trip.
Anne Marie’s along in Minna’s mind.
Anne Marie preferred animals.
Anne Marie was into mermaids and horses.
Minna’s more into cats, but
Minna will make do alone.
Minna’s a composer!
Minna settles into her seat, thrilled about the ferry.
The Baltic is capricious.
The Baltic’s deep and smooth.
The Baltic’s a bowl, a submarine valley.
The Baltic’s as balmy as a bathtub.
Minna’s brought her bathing suit along.
It’s late in August.
Minna’s stoked.
Minna’s heading away from what hurts.
No one’s going to inflict any more damage, Minna thinks.
Everything’s going to get sorted, Minna thinks, because
Minna wants to grow an asshole filter.
Minna thinks she can grow it quickly.
Minna’s broken heart dwells in the breast of an optimist.
Minna’s boarded the Leonora Christine.
The school camp’s shepherded onto the upper deck.
The school camp’s met another school camp.
The school camps exchange sexual fluids.
Minna drinks coffee in the stern canteen.
The canteen’s full of retirees.
The retirees swarm up from the vehicle deck.
The retirees want to sit with one other.
Minna moves gladly.
Minna moves for two pairs of friends in their midseventies.
The gentlemen immediately order beer.
The missuses have newly permed hair.
The missuses make do with orange soda.
The gentlemen squeeze their permed missuses.
The missuses giggle.
The
retirees have sex.
Minna can see they have sex.
Minna thinks of Mom.
Minna dismisses the thought.
The thought lands on Lars.
Lars without clothes on.
Lars with a hard-on.
Minna on horseback.
Cat on a hot tin roof.
Minna and Lars, genital to genital, no respect.
Minna blushes on the plastic ferry seat.
Minna’s been the fuck buddy of a disrespectful man.
That’s the way it is, thinks Minna.
Minna’s backbone withers.
Lars prefers sex with a machete.
It’s unbearable, but there you have it.
The retirees raise their glasses.
Minna takes up Bergman from her pack.
The Leonora Christine pulls away from the quay.
The Leonora Christine heads out.
Minna glances down at Bergman.
Bergman says, I pretend to be an adult.
Bergman says, Time and again it amazes me that people take me seriously.
Minna loves Bergman.
Bergman lunges for Minna with the truth.
Bergman holds her tight, and now she glances at the door to the vehicle deck.
The door opens.
A small group of retirees trickles in.
Minna feels initially serene at the sight.
It doesn’t last.
Minna raises Bergman to her face.
Minna slouches in her seat.
Minna wants to get off the Leonora Christine.
The Leonora Christine has set course for Rønne, but
Minna wants to leave.
Minna was once a music teacher at a folk high school.
Minna taught weeklong classes for happy amateurs.
The happy amateurs signed up in torrents.
The folk high school provided housing.
The folk high school was always going bust.
The amateurs had dough.
People stood there with guitars and piccolos.
People wanted to be virtuous.
Minna tried to teach them a bit of notation.
Minna clapped in time.
Minna played Bach for them.
Minna was trampled by dwarfs.
Minna ran out of options.
Minna let them sing from the tired Danish songbook.
The amateurs sang, Is the light only for the learnéd?
Minna had her take on it.
The amateurs felt disgruntled about their rooms.
Minna found them new ones.
The amateurs lost their things:
Dentures, rollators, and spectacles vanishing every instant.
Prosthetic legs and large-print books: gone.
Grundtvig hovered above the waters.
Grundtvig illuminated the scene.
Grundtvig was high on sugar water and the life of the mind.
Minna had to see to all the practicalities herself.