Dear little squirrel, can you hear me, do you understand what I
say when I talk to you, can you feel me lifting you,
as we cross the yard together in order to bury you in
the ditch where the soil is soft and black, do you hear the
insects, the breath of wind, do you think; what is eternity?
What does eternity mean? Maybe the fleeting shadow
when a plane passes, the sluggish rain. Can you perceive that
I’m thinking about you, about how you no longer exist, that
you no longer exist among all the others; you were unique, like
we all are unique. I for example believe I am a father,
believe I am a son.
Translation of “En telefonsamtale.” Copyright Rune Christiansen. By arrangement with the author. Translation copyright 2011 by Agnes Scott Langeland. All rights reserved.