restlessbooks"On the homefield surrounding the church were skin tents, the hairy side turned out, and in them huddled foreign surveyors, sweaty but sweet-looking after their long workday. I went from tent to tent and gave them crullers and shortbread biscuits with unimpressive buttercream, but they found them quite good and asked for more. The church bells rang and I stood there shuffling my feet in the tent opening, didn’t want to get to mass late yet couldn’t tear myself away, wanted to breathe in the odor of sweat a bit longer. I spoke to them in gestures about crullers but it seemed as if we were talking about something else entirely. I couldn’t figure out what it was but felt it coming closer and closer to me until I turned on my heel, didn’t let it touch my body until much later." —from the mind of Icelandic poet/author/philosopher/feminist/mystic Oddny Eir, in The Rumpus.
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