The web
she steps out
dark clothes loud music strong gum
pacing to the bus stop
as if to ward something off
it’ll take at least 45 minutes
past the men always drinking at the gas station
through the unofficial suburbs
to get anywhere really
she keeps a sharpie on her, just in case
her weapon in the eternal duel
between herself and whoever keeps drawing swastikas here
she turns them into little houses,
like in kindergarten,
because this is home
even though
she doesn’t particularly like this part,
the most familiar part,
but full of strangers
why is it so easy
to be swallowed,
see the ugly,
smell the ugly,
feel the ugly,
forget the sun,
miss the bus,
and trip on trash,
only to be shocked by the radiance
of this place
why does it feel like
a giant web
beautiful when it catches the light
but if you don’t watch your step
you might get stuck
it feels too big to her sometimes
like there are too many places
to find your own
like there’s too much history
to notice right now
like the postman will change too often to get to know him
like the neighbors aren’t really there
and everyone leaves
humans are meant for places smaller than berlin
and yet it’s only here
that she has enough space.
Photo: Toyah Höher
