Lake Constance floats by in the rectangular window. Just a sliver of violet blue. It changes colour, first to grey, now to the white of haze above the water surface. Then the train has passed. There is knitting on the fold-away table, a book, a smartphone. If the music wasn’t so loud in my ears, I could hear the hiss of the train through the morning, this light whirring and whistling.
Destination: St. Gallen, Switzerland.
racing clouds
farther down the stream
half a paper boat
Not many get off at the station, but those who do look around at the spotless half-timber houses with eyes wide open. As if they have been painted into an environment of the picturesque and luxurious. A little pale, immersed in a dream, they disappear down the stairs and into the winding alleys of the city centre. My friend meets me at the main entrance. We hug and hurry through the rain-wet streets to reach the house where she lives.
soft and steady rain
one strut of the umbrella
slips out of place
Her maisonette is eccentric, a work of art. The architect and artist who lived here playfully interlocked the open levels with different entrances. I get the tour; soon our conversation turns to the one open landing with an exquisite armchair and a side table under a large roof window that can only be reached via a railless walkway across the living room: the most rarely used spot in this flat, but pretty. My gaze is drawn to it again and again.
super pink cloud
someone dims the backlight
The morning here is somewhat sharper, purer. Behind the sliding glass door in the second bathroom, I let the shower water run all over me and keep touching the wall. This is for real.
reflecting dew
on the other side
the other side
“Coffee?” Her voice reaches me from downstairs. I can choose from six types of capsules. The labelling is printed too small, and the containers for used and not-yet-used capsules are filled to the brim, larger than the coffee machine itself. The harmonies in the background shift.
fresh rolls
the different jams
and honey
At some point I share with her what makes me deeply happy. Art. Creating. States that absorb all words—they cannot be measured or easily explained. My friend laughs. The laughter leaves her lips and reaches my ear; this almost simultaneity is a contradiction. I fuse more words, more sentences to her raised eyebrows, and she laughs once more.
stitch by stitch teaching hands to remember
In the morning we visit the textile museum which is just a short walk from her flat. The latest exhibition shows centuries-old Chinese embroideries. I barely manage to take in the details on the signs next to the exhibits. Instead, I focus on breathing, time and again. Otherwise I’d be holding my breath. That’s what art does to me, it makes me dizzy.
white noise
sometimes eyes close
for a clearer picture
We stop in front of a long display case. My friend moves on to the one behind, then into the next room. I don’t follow her. Instead, tears run down my face. She returns and looks at me puzzled, hands me a tissue, keeps asking, “Why are you crying?” I don’t know. I raise my hands as if in defense; I just want to make her stop talking.
I believe this is the moment when the switch is thrown between us. We just don’t know it yet. After that, we keep trying to sink the land between us into Lake Constance, with no luck.
stars that are not
now
hanfu butterflies
(she/they; born 1976) is a disabled intuitive artist and poet, known online as pi & anne aka [at]pi.and.anne. She lives in Germany with her family and two rabbits. Her art aims to trace the filters humans apply, as how we see things says often more about us than about the thing itself. Her heart beats for minimalist art, found poetry, and mixed-media collages. In her spare time, you can find her knitting in public, drinking coffee, writing on her phone, sharing hugs, and baking pancakes (her solution for everything).
Her poetry has been published in Kingfisher Journal, Wales Haiku Journal, The Haibun Journal, Whiptail Journal, The Other Bunny, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Pan Haiku Review, Poetry Pea Journal and Podcast, Failed Haiku, Prune Juice Journal, Frogpond Journal, and Presence Haiku Journal. She placed second in the Marlene Mountain Memorial Haiku Contest 2023, organised by FemkuMag.
