Brotmeister Steineche
(Bread Master of the Stone Corner)

Early morning corner table
espresso, small square sugar cookie
some sweet with my bitter

Bike commuters elegantly navigate this stone corner
three grey cobblestone streets intersecting
Berliners intent on their mission, no joy rides here

One street sweeps upward mostly residential
one parallels the cemetery leading to the market hall
one leads back to my son and his family
mezuzah on their doorpost

What footprints have been left here –
trying not to see what these streets have seen
I stumble on the slightly raised brass paving stones
naming the victims of imaginable evil

Speaking stones?
I cover my ears just in case

Across the street park guests stir on their benches
elbows and knees sculpting blankets

Slightly disoriented, I check World Clock on my phone-
the usual suspects – San Francisco, New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Beijing
second hands all the same of course
moving steadily across faces all different

Eight billion synchronized commuters
pedaling while hands juggle seconds
fearful of dropping even one

Traveling together through darkness and light
each of us hoping to make it back home
where our mothers, all master bakers,
will feed us warm bread