He would
in case of divorce
lay claim to half
of everything
he said.
Half a sofa,
half a TV,
half a summerhouse
half a pound of butter
half a child.

The day he
picked up
his furniture
the frost had
left the ground
so the builders
in the suburbs
could pour
foundations
for the prefab houses.

It’s not easy
to be alone
other people
have impatient
waiting-room eyes.
The floor pulls
your steps out from
under you.
You swing yourself
from hour
to hour.
A vocabulary
of about
one hundred words
was not included
when the property
was divided.

Husbands
fill up
the whole world
block
the horizon
take charge
make
decisions
are all over
never call
on Sundays.

In these poems, the author of The Copenhagen Trilogy considers her strengths and weaknesses.

An excerpt from the final book of Tove Ditlevsen’s Copenhagen Trilogy.