Kantstraße from the third floor flat.
Framing history through my view out the window.
I see ornate structures restored. Others newly built.
Rows of shops that make today’s Berlin –
fresh-baked bread, amps and basses,
buds and blossoms, antiques from an era gone by,
Wiener Beisl next to Paris Bar and Restaurant.
Who lives behind the glass above
the shop across the street?
What brought them here
or keeps them?
What stories are found
in their chairs and picture frames?
What do they think as they walk down the street?
What might they be seeing
as they look toward me?
An elderly man leans on his cane as he
weaves through midday traffic
where the little red car once stayed.
The little red car – a small bright speck squeezed between
the rows of black and gray lining the front of the shops.
Who owns these cars? Rides in them?
Do they live nearby, or are they just passing by?
Two young women stop to chat in the middle
of the sidewalk as others rush by.
One points excitedly down the street.
Bundled up in their stylish coats,
taking a moment to appreciate
the other’s humanity, to nurture a friendship.
“Do they have hope for tomorrow?”
I wonder as I sit by the window.
Have they heard that God is in Berlin?