Berlin


This is Berlin.  I’m holding it
Between my thumb and index finger;
A sugar cube, white like snow.
At least I call it Berlin.
If I had two sugar cubes
I could have two Berlins but
For now: one Berlin.

I’ve never been to Berlin but
I imagine someone in Berlin a long time ago
Holding a sugar cube over a cup of tea
Just as I am, watching the snow fall
Outside a window, a wife waiting for
Her husband to return from war, a soldier
Waiting to go to war, a child
Putting the cube into her mouth
Instead of into the tea.
Freud or Chagall in a café or studio
Each looking at a sugar cube in his own way
Then mixing it with tea
And closing his eyes.

I’ve never had tea in Berlin but
I’ve just unwrapped another sugar cube.
Now I have two sugar cubes. I think of
Each one as Berlin.  I love them equally.
I hate them equally.  I place them
On my bedside table.  I drink the tea plain.
In the morning they’ll be there.
Two skylines rising out of two skylines—
My sweet little Berlins,
I can do with as I please.

from PoetryNZ.