At Checkpoint Charlie
The death strip – scraped earth
Sepia postcard of the Brandenburg Gate.
Organized bus tour. A one-day visit.
Windows are bricks instead of glass.
A summer day, lapis-blue sky.
My husband buys a rucksack.
“These East Berliners look unhappy,” he says.
I remember, his leaving bruises.
The Mauer, the Wall, cuts through houses.
People are forbidden to wave
to family and friends.
White crosses under an old elm.
A Strasse becomes a cul-de-sac:
from a steel viewing tower
one sees the street life.
Blank faces of passers-by.
People break the Wall with hammers,
take home souvenirs. 1989.
We are a family, divorced.
A piece of Mauer still stands along the river,
one kilometre long. Dandelions, graffiti art.
Centre of the city under construction.
One thought on “Eight Poems for the Wall”
A nice poem , very evocative- it says much with very few words.