The dogs are sharp

I watched a girl locked into a watchful house

biting fingernails, nailpolish

serving as colourful garnish

I watched her lift a weapon, clumsily

and shoot herself in the mirror

directly into the head

the town beyond reach

there is no entertainment here

all there is is watching

watching out and fear

I watched her sitting next to the bed of a blind grandfather, now

a man of delusions, staring into bitterness
he can go nowhere but

there is a sense of duty here: a tear

feeding a forbidden lake just around the corner
completely out of reach

Its surface a mirror of long gone memories

a long gone father

a long gone childhood

boat rides and fishing adventures

there was the sound of laughter
above the surface of this mystic water

an existence the girl once called her life

without questioning, now she wouldn‘t dare

to find a name for it or claim any possessions:

Worn out sweaters, worn out memories

dreams, worn out and sucked into years

of running around the same old walls of the same old house
What to own in a disowned, stolen life?

The dogs are sharp

the dogs keep barking

at elders who don’t have solutions

for little girls with dreams

for fathers consumed by struggles

for mothers consumed by worries

for grandmothers consumed by songs of

a long gone life at the foot of snow-covered mountains

Everything has rules
that might change over time

The dogs keep barking

they have a good nose
for men without honour

for culprits and the sweat of guilt and fear

She will meet him

one day

he will be not the same

the future was just one step

ahead of a moment

in which everything changed

He changed without warning

they locked him up

she still calls him brother

not the same

no words left for

his face, his heart, his games

not the same

They might come to shoot her

they might come

they might

come and go with me to london

I will give you my house, my bed

a marginal sense of shelter
promises

I watched her arguing with an elder sister

escaping from suitors who might be her only escape

I watched her riding

a smile, a bicycle, on the same spot

again and again around that old tree

whose seed once fell

into the lap of a field

that now is called a yard

uncared for

there seems to be no need
to care
for slow things when all one eats
has the same old taste, restless

Something grows into years of waiting

between her shoulders, her blades

a tiny drop of water, a wanting

a seed was planted there

by her nightmare’s elder brother: revenge

has a face, has a name

he might come to shoot her

he might come

he might

She will have to face him

long after her escape

she will have to face him opening the fire

blowing her head off

in the mirror frame

she will face her buried, churning fear
her nightmare's restless brother