THREE POEMS

Death Fugue: Violin

Then I heard a violinand it didn’t matter that I was a Jew,they are painting swastikas on campus walls.What happens when they paint them on my doorfor my kids to see?I will sic the cat after them.I will sic the violin after them.What can a violin doto a man who paints a swastika on your––who etches one into the lid of your piano?I’ll tell you what it can do.It can fuck you up.It matters that I am a Jew.That’s what I said to the cat.Then I imagined being dead on the attic floor.The cat would eat my eyeballs out.He don’t care that I come from Poland, Russia, Transylvania beforethe pogrom.That’s what cats do—suck out your dead eyes.Violins don’t do that.When I heard it, it mattered that I was a Jewand it didn’t matter.All the contradictions of the universes slamming into one another.You know what sound they make?They make the sound of a violin.That’s how I knew I was in good hands.That’s why it’s important to have a violin close by—to shoot down the motherfuckers when they comewith their swastika riflesand their swastika apple pies.