Poetry/Photo
Urban Treasure Hunt Writings
© Claudia Strate
So,
there's a pile of crumbly dust
In a Schaukasten
At station Volkstheater.
Upon closer inspection
it's not random
but curated:
Der Zahn der Zeit
nagt an der naturhistorischen Geschichte
They say.
I see a tattered wing,
little dry legs lying about.
Tiny black eyes,
empty hairy shells
impaled on little metal poles.
"Historic insect drawer
infested by skin beatles"
They write
on a small golden plaque.
I see a little creature, all dry and grubby,
little yellow teeth
under a corroded nose.
"Hamster specimen
infested by webbing clothes moths"
They write
on a small golden plaque.
I see
not the teeth of time
but the gentle fingers of
the living earth taking back
what always belonged to her.
So,
I sat next to a book
on the bus
10A, direction Heiligenstadt
holy city
because where else
would a book go, all by itself.
"Das persönliche Geburtstagsbuch"
tells me about the 2nd of May
A special day
or so the book says.
There's a bookmark inside,
chapter "Die Festung fällt",
about the battle of Điện Biên Phủ
marking the fall of the French colonial empire,
is what the book says.
A few pages down,
birthday menu suggestions,
a recipe for a banana cocktail,
it contains a spoonful of butter.
Health tipps for the Taurus-Born,
Novalis romantic poems,
Catherine the Great was born on May, 2
Someone really loves their birthday
And wrote a book about it
I have to get off
bon voyage
There's a little cup,
It sits next to the bus driver,
right next to the bus driver it sits.
It collects spit, all day, every day,
every gooey drop of saliva mucus mixed with bacteria and microbials, nail clippings
and that yellow dust coming over from China.
I collect spit, it says, because that is how it is given: it is spat, into the cup.
But really, what's in there,
what it really is that I collect,
is potential,
the potential of a new life from emerging.