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.
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.