I remember Bissingen
I learnt to whistle in that church
the girl whose father lost his hand
laughed at how I made my mouth
like an ö
he thought I was trying to kiss her
under the Queen of Heaven
Franzi
that was her name
Na, Baba, i bring eam’s Pfeifa bei!
she said grinning with her eyes
Kuck her, Bazi
he leaned in close
his hand missing on my shoulder
like an ü
he showed me
kicher kicher kicher-cher
Franzi and I would whistle
Rosamunde
gathering kindle for the baker’s fire
he always wanted a tune
in return
he gave us our daily milk and Kipferl
if you soaked it
it didn’t taste like yesterday’s bread