Nisaa Nuray Hreinsson

I am my mother's savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones
I am my mother's savage daughter
I will not cut my hair I will not lower my voice

My mother's child is a savage
She looks for her omens in the colors of stones
In the faces of cats, in the falling of feathers
In the dancing of fire, in the curve of old bones

I am my mother's savage daughter
The one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones
I am my mother's savage daughter
I will not cut my hair.