Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monica Aasprong

the child:

the child:

I see a flock move across the sky it is birds and furred animals which have bitten and scratched each other until they have become one, a sort of cloud, all the bodies closely hooked together, to a large darkness of feathers and furs, claws and beaks. I don’t know if they cling to each other out of fear or love, or if they bite and scratch each other out of hatred. Nothing is red. Everything is black. Black as fur. Bring

the child:

barnet sier:

jeg ser en flokk bevege seg over himmelen det er fugler og pelsdyr som har bitt og kloret seg fast i hverandre så de blir til en slags sky, tett koblet sammen alle kroppene, til et stort mørke av fjær og pels, klør og nebb. Jeg vet ikke om de klamrer seg til hverandre av skrekk eller kjærlighet, eller om de biter og klorer hverandre av hat. Ingenting er rødt. Alt er svart. Svart som pels. Bær
Close

the child:

the child:

I see a flock move across the sky it is birds and furred animals which have bitten and scratched each other until they have become one, a sort of cloud, all the bodies closely hooked together, to a large darkness of feathers and furs, claws and beaks. I don’t know if they cling to each other out of fear or love, or if they bite and scratch each other out of hatred. Nothing is red. Everything is black. Black as fur. Bring

the child:

the child:

I see a flock move across the sky it is birds and furred animals which have bitten and scratched each other until they have become one, a sort of cloud, all the bodies closely hooked together, to a large darkness of feathers and furs, claws and beaks. I don’t know if they cling to each other out of fear or love, or if they bite and scratch each other out of hatred. Nothing is red. Everything is black. Black as fur. Bring
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