My brother's sitting high in the linden tree, the tall one
near the wall. He can't get down.
My sister has blond braids and a pink ribbon in her hair.
A girl arrives from Germany.
She has dark braids. She's crying.
My father puts on his bicycle clips.
He rides to Odengatan 9 with his hat and his briefcase.
Something dark that's happened somewhere else must be understood.
When the streetlights come on we have to run home.
I stand panting in the foyer.
My mother's in the kitchen. She looks sad.
She's dicing carrots.
My brother's lying in bed eating gooseberry fool with a teaspoon
to make it last longer.
He lies in bed for a year and eats and eats
but only gets skinnier.
I lie on my stomach on the floor and draw a war that never ends.
Something dark that must be understood
is between the lampposts. Something dark seeps into me
and becomes a spirited lifelong despair.
There are orange cubes to be eaten cooked.
There is a man in a dark overcoat and a fur hat.
He goes out skating in the evening darkness.
His path would be hidden from me
if it weren't for the graceful movements of his glowing cigar.
There's white smoke above his head.
Columns of smoke from chimneys rise straight up over the roofs.
They are the houses' frozen souls,
visible perhaps because of the moonlight,
perhaps because of something else
that will never be revealed to me.