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Schatzilein

Here’s to all you little Germanic girls   Who felt like they couldn’t write about their culture Who felt like they didn’t have enough spicy glistening moons Or starry night skies drifting over their ancestral tree To be worth listening to Our trees have been set aflame There are gates around it Locks, locks so tight My grandmother just wants to touch it again But her arms so longer fit through the bars Here’s a little story About how when people ask me where I come from I hesitate

Look at me and see how I am breaking over and under this How I’ve always been conditioned to tread lightly How I am shoving all that I should be basking in Back across the ocean Back to where bombs were dropped And lives were taken Don’t be fooled into thinking they didn’t take from those who looked like them I hold my breath when I smell cinnamon I pretend I do not like it Nobody writes about their German ancestors Sipping tea on balconies overlooking the alps Catching the wind and storing it in their lungs   We don’t hear about how they ich diebe ditch each other to sleep Or how they garden so much their entire hands are green You see nobody writes about them without fire Not without mentioning his name And their mistakes I’ve been trying to wash this blood off of my hands since the first time my grandmother called me Schatzilein They’re sorry We’re sorry I’m sorry Es tut mir leid We’re trying Can’t you see we’re trying I don’t want to be ashamed anymore

I’ve been trying to figure out Why it has taken me so long to learn German When I reach for a German saying I cough up blood I choke on my other roots asserting themselves My throat wasn’t made to brew these words It was made to bend To look down To think about what we’ve done I’ve been thinking about what they’ve done for far too long I have always spoke German I’ve just never known any of the words

The first time my grandmother told me about her mother She described her tombstone She told me which flowers she brought to her funeral She told me how to get to the cemetery where she was buried She always seemed so forbidden to me So forbidden there So forbidden here It was only when I first saw her picture that I realized It was probably because her heartbeat sounded like a folksong And she taught her how to say goodbye Auf wiedersehen Before thank you danke I’m so glad she was honest She told me of how Our ancestral tree grew from the branches They cut off How are roots were different How we should unbend our neck sometimes