Else
The old lady with the sunglasses, who drinks whiskey
and falls asleep in the big armchair on holidays.
That is how you remember me.
I know that I scared you children
and that you wished I would not come at all.
But that is not who I always was
I cut my hair short,
wore trousers, smoked cigarillos.
Oh, how my
mother cried.
And begged
and pleaded.
Sailed across the Atlantic on an Ocean Liner.
Saw New York’s skyscrapers grow in
the horizon
Bigger
than us, grander than us.
But in Hooverville we
walked around the pain.
Certain to not get our shoes dirty.
Stood in the cheering crowd on one of Hamburg’s main
streets.
Excitement in the air. Power! We will rise again!
Who could have imagined that the tiny man
with
the booming voice.
One day would equal evil, destruction and chaos.
And when my sister died, all too soon.
I tried
to take care of her sweet daughters.
I
really did!
But I believe I failed.
Too many demons. Too much urgency. Too much heartbreak.
I
was nothing against it.
But no, I did not get married.
Some
fools said it was because I was in love with my brother –in- law.
That beautiful, brilliant, impractical man.
But tell me, why I would cause my sister more pain?
He
betrayed her enough without me.
But maybe someone sat behind me
when I rode through
the apple orchards in May.
Holding me tight, the motor purring underneath us,
as I maneuvered with ease.
Up and down the hills and around the narrow bends.
The Baltic Sea covered in silver flakes and
pink petals snowing down on us.
And maybe we stopped at the pointy hills,
wrapped in a sunny blanket made of Prima Vulgaris.
Like the witches used to do, we climbed to the top.
The wind up there filled with ancient strength.
We could smell freedom.
And maybe when no one saw I grabbed hold of Her.
Put my hand in the hair,
soft as silk.
And kissed Her.
