You never raised a hand,
your silent eyes just begging
that the violence must end -
Your silence was suffocating
when I was ten.

Made me anxious
when it would stop,
this little engine of mine.
Oh how we all love Deutsche Wertarbeit
and discipline
and being in time.

Later it was hard
to live up to a world
that only you could see.
Just turned me colder,
inevitably,
we grew apart.

Made me angry
why it didn’t stop,
this engine of mine.
Oh how we all love Deutsche Wertarbeit
and efficiency
and being right. 

Now you are dead -
Figuratively.
We rarely speak
and avoid to meet.

 What an irony
that your son was the daughter
you always had hoped for
when I was still in your womb.

It all left me wondering,
if it will ever start -
This engine
that never grew a heart
despite of all the Wertarbeit,
killed by social distance
and a mother‘s fright. 

05/2024