A ghost-patterned train

You were part of an invisible dress

That became heavier and heavier

As I dragged it like a dead animal’s

Fur across my shoulders, behind me,

Mutilating it, gangrenous, holding on

To matter equally torn and checkmating.


They just stared at my lipstick,

My eyelashes up high, the armoured

Neck and never wonder about the unseen

Old age eating me up from behind my back.

The voices that keep mumbling and screaming,

To change the past, to erase their actions and steps

We might stem from the same roots, but my sky is blue.


The record is scratched and dysfunctional.

I’ve extracted the tiniest piece of beauty.

I’ll stay there. The words that should have

Been uttered have rotten away in a dead chamber

Where nobody takes responsibility and knows no language to admit

What they did. Earth on hot air. What existed goes unnamed,

Unspoken, unheard of. I’ll set the banister on fire.


Porträt Gertraud Luberich” by Leo Putz (1869-1940)

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