ierdappels foar loaie froulju
yn ‘e kelder steane twa kisten fol
nijen tear en noedlik
âlden stoef en flink bepoeiere
wrottershannen feie it ljocht oan
skarrelje beret in miel byinoar
ûnder de tinst mooglike jaskes
printet in âld krante switterich it nijs
op jierren fan famyljeberjochten en Gurbes
tommen snjitterje drûch slyk bûten it bakje
oer de skelk op de grûn mar ach,
sa kreas as by mem wurdt it toch net
hast lykweidich
snijt it molemes breklike mearke-linten
leit blauwe plakken iepen
plúzet de eagen út
oan ‘e itenstafel dûke se
ien foar ien it brakke wetter yn
potatoes for idle women
in the basement there are two crates full
new ones tender and troubled
old ones gruff and generously powdered
toiling hands sweep the switch
calculate to scrape together a meal
under the thinnest of jackets
an old sweaty paper re-prints the news upon
years of personal announcements and cartoons
thumbs spatter mud crusts outside the tray
all over the apron and on the floor but hey,
it will never be as tidy as mum’s place anyway
nearly parallel
the paring-knife cuts fragile fairytale-ribbons
reveals bruises
gouges out eyes
at the dinner table they dive
one by one into the brackish water
(Translation: Arjan Hut & Grytsje Schaaf)