It Usually Doesn't Snow in Central Sweden in October

Scandinavian Review, Summer 2003 by Forsstrom, Tua

Birgitta had placed some flowers in

the room in a glass, pale light violet against

the snow, tiny anemones with very thin

petals and clearly visible nerves. All is like before.

But we were unprepared for the snow, it normally

doesn't snow in central Sweden in October.

We don't feel well at all, Andrei Arsenjevich!

You probably don't appreciate my writing such things.

But we are lonely. And we are tired. And we are

deceitful. And we miss our parents.

There's a murmur behind the wall, insects

thudding against glass, is there a wish to ridicule us once again?

We fall ill, we forget. We burst easily into tears.

You know how it is, you know how we are, you find it

unacceptable. You think that enough is enough.

But I think that this establishment high up would

appeal to you, with the cool smell of chalk, cellar-vaults,

the bay as aluminum, the bells. The small island

that's called Africa. The overtones. The half-tones.

You have to start somewhere. But perhaps there is

no end, only water-logged forest and the smoke from grass and

the swamps, Andrei Arsenjevitch.