HAVE YOU EVER SEEN AN UNDERTAKER CRY?
Already as a toddler
I knew what I wanted to become,
definitely not a teacher or mother, that was boring and stupid,
not a pilot or firefighter either,
no, something so mysterious
I didn’t even know the word for it.
In the sandpit I practised digging holes,
for you don’t learn swimming from a book.
When my hamster Wiegel died
I consigned her (my mother thought
it was a female) to the earth
behind the shed in the garden,
sleep little baby, I hummed to myself.
That I wept and wept
made it all more lovely and genuine.
After that came some trickier fieldwork:
taking leave of my grandma.
I was allowed to be at the mass and the cemetery,
the jersey I was wearing was itchy
we scattered rose petals
I could throw farther than my younger brother,
we’d forgotten our handkerchiefs so I blew
a bogeyman into my new corduroy dress.
The moment you died
and I stayed tearless from misery,
my training was complete.
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