Dream #16/To Have and Hold

Gabríela Friðriksdóttir

Friends lie sleeping
In white paper bags
Cocooned and warm
On a cold, stony beach
Biting wind and
Freezing misty drizzle

They have collected
Discarded treasures
From the sea,
Ceramic ornaments
And the kind of tat
I love

Some friends are
In white porcelain
Bathtubs with tarnished gold feet
One of them is screaming
Her rage shakes the air
So it begins to fragment

Oscillate and shimmer

I grab her firmly
By the throat
And calmly recite
"It was bound to happen,
Sooner or later..."
Howling wind subsides