‘Bauernschlau’
bauernschlau (adj.): literally, “farm-smart”, the German equivalent of “street-wise”
When I’m watering the lettuce, I’m not thinking about that text I sent
or the whereabouts of my IUD. Just how to make the roots as wet as possible in the least possible time, without burning the leaves.
The forty-something Bulgarian gardener has explained this process
eleven times. I counted. Das habe ich verstanden. Das habe ich vielmals gemacht. As usual, though, his loneliness outweighs misogyny, tugs the heartstrings
until they’re soft. So when he asks about my weekend plans, I tell him.
In a way that says you’re not invited, but also, please don’t kill me with a shovel:
renting a car, driving alone, how I love to drive, it’s the only time
my mind is still, smooth EU-funded tarmac through the Alps, caught
in a shower then squinting, fumbling for sunglasses, looping the Eibsee
and diving into its crystal blue water. Hast du kein Angst? is all he had to say on the matter. In other words, a woman should fear existence.
That night, walking to my trailer, the moon is a perfect half apricot in the undark sky. Long, damp grass grazes long-unshaven legs.
If I believed in god, this place would make an excellent purgatory: an empty wheelbarrow flipped in the dung, a dog that hates me.
I ask the light what I’ve been waiting for. To leave my home? To become more wise?
At times like these I wish I’d learned the names of more wildflowers; how lakes exist at such high altitude. Why the moon is big some nights and others, small. To paint unease. To defend myself when I’m asleep.
Ruth Beddow is a London-based poet originally from the West Midlands. Her first pamphlet ‘The Thought Sits With Me’ was published by Nine Pens in 2022. She currently runs a poetry workshop at Morocco Bound Bookshop and is the 2024 judge of the E.H.P. Barnard Poetry Prize.