For Wolodja in Moscow Poem by Matthias Göritz

I go to the window
and become a beautiful evening

What does one do in heaven?
He who dies is no longer in the world

In heaven they eat ice cream
And if there is color?

Is color only a space one dreams of
I'm in the belly of Mama

God makes pizza there
When I come out there's noise

Mama screams
I screams

As for hell I'd rather not think of it
I'm fairly convinced it exists

In contrast to the many things
Nothingness is white in color

My mothers come from the monkey
I can't look at another banana

All this makes noise
And purgatory, I believe, is like dry-cleaning

Everything in the world dies
And if we live on, for example in heaven

it rains

Translation: Susan Bernofsky