Dessert

As I sit at the dinner table I watch the three men who have sucked at my breasts.
One of them still sucks them, two sucked them for a time.
I look at the sun pouring through the window and look at the glasses on the table.
I look at the three mouths, opening and closing because of the food.
I look at the food disappear from the table as the sun moves across the window.
I say:

You have all sucked at my breasts.

While they wipe their mouths with their napkins.

They nod and smile at me and I smile at them.

Dinner is not over, I add. There’s dessert.
I say and get up, because I don’t want anyone to leave.

I want to serve them the dessert with closed eyes. The hot, firehot dessert with whipped cream.

Translation of “Eftirrétur.” © Kristín Ómarsdóttir. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2011 by Peter Constantine. All rights reserved.