Kathrin Schmidt

1958 / Gotha

The firedoor shuts

the firedoor shuts its singing metal behind you
you don't know if it can keep your flat
or your keyed-up kids
latched

now I'm breaking down like I used to years ago
when I walked through the rushes and reeds
a girl, but already my spine, my lightning rod
had begun to fold

when dragonflies purred across water
as safe as my mother's words

translated by Gig Ryan
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