Beate Sigriddaughter
Playing in the Ruins
“Mutti, may I go play in the ruins?”
“Yes. Be home for supper.”
Nobody needs to teach you how to play.
My mother knew where I would be,
just around the corner. Three buildings on,
and there it was, my playground of rubble.
I didn’t even have to cross the street.
A small ledge became an altar, an acorn cap
became a chalice with water from a puddle
left in a hole in the stone and a tiny daisy.
The world became itself with what was left
after war, peace and intention, escape
from shoelaces and spotless frocks.
Nobody needs to teach you how to pray.