When they wait at the bus stop,
I see the refugees
who live in a home
so far out on the edge of Berlin
that signs warn of horse riders.
I cycle past.
I have to go to piano lessons or the doctor.
Sometimes I wonder
whether it disturbs women with headscarves,
long sleeves and skirts
to see me with naked legs and arms.
I don’t ask them.
2016. My mother and I go to the home.
We ask the porter at the gate
whether we can help, give support or make a contribution,
and are turned away in an unfriendly manner.
In a context
where the rules are clear,
it is easy for me
to speak and listen.
The more difficult step –
to approach someone –
does not happen.
Mother and I did not go back to the home,
although it is not far away.
I cycle past
and pose questions –
to myself.
