[you found part of your ribcage on the stairs this morning]

Josephine Bätz

this is a place for the birds the ones who don’t bother to

lift off the ground anymore and the flies

tired rejecting autumn leaves for half-open

library doors and the trees

winter-bare start pressing on the ground

there’s earthquakes to come that might disconnect

our bones and the cars

freeze to the college walls overnight there is no one

fast enough to catch pigeons anymore so they leave

of their own accord and the sun

is taking on different colours none of which really fit

we don’t encourage that sort of behaviour but the houses

said they’d try it themselves next year soon as

they get their stones back and the lights

grow weaker each day but you know we won’t make it

to the store again not if we leave for even

a second and this bench

carries our weight in a rather graceful manner we have

chosen not to ask each other the same question twice

but you don’t answer once so this conversation

stands still in the air above our heads and the magpie

has taken an interest in the inscription only to notice

you won’t move for it

or anyone

this is all the room you have left and this

is your place in it

and the clouds

Josephine Bätz is a student of film studies in Berlin, Germany. She writes poetry, flash fiction and short prose in English and German. In 2019, she was student writer-in-residence for the city of Berlin. Work of hers has appeared in Josephine Quarterly, Stadtsprachen Magazin and Leopardskin & Limes.