The web (Hometown edition)

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