Where I'm From (Warendorf Edition)

I am from half-timbered houses,
from cobblestone roads and the clops of a horse’s hooves.
I am from fresh produce bought from the farmer’s market.
(The fragrant smells, every Tuesday morning,
especially from the sugary pastries.)
I am from tea sweetened with honey
and the sugar-glazed apple cake
with classical music playing on the radio
and feeling as if I was one of the local village girls.

I’m from petting zoos and pirate ship playgrounds,
from Peters and Mersmann.
I’m from the trampolines
and scooter rides.
I’m from the Madonna and Child
gazing enigmatically from the glass case
with her solemn, burnt black face.

I’m from Rolf and Rosemarie’s garden,
piano keys and old books about animals.
From the shared grim memories of their childhood
under the Führer,
the horrified eye I shut to keep my sight
from the copy of Mein Kampf.

In my house there are frames and albums
revealing childhood pictures,
a collection of carefree, innocent faces
that don’t feel the same keeping them in an iPhone.
I am from those moments -
crumbling to dust the moment we sold the house five years ago
and the moment their loving, tender hearts stopped beating.