Museum of Military History Poem by Kathrin Schmidt

The guards lolled in silence at the entrance
while inside, a fan chopped up the displays' rank and serial numbers
and green uniforms melted through their glass cabinets
and stepped - blinding like a swarm -
into the open fields like nettles

I wore your time of National Service on my skin
a scabbed dress, until it itched in my blood
Here a page of dust carefully peeled off the climbing wall
while child soldiers whimpered and whimpered from my bag
but there were no plastic toys, turning hoops or velcro targets here

I carried these little soldiers with me, their photo mouths
clicked out my name, over and over

translated by Gig Ryan