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The Golem Envisions his Origins

2- The Golem, hearing the Fishwives, becomes Incited

You can’t keep a man hidden
	forever. The shawled rumor-
mongering fishwives in the ghetto have noticed
	my shadow looming in the garden.
They point scaly fingers at stacked

kindling, clean gutters, the moans dripping
	from the upper, mullioned
windows. There are wicker traces
	on the sofa where they drink
 sweet liqueurs, having faulty fortunes

read by the Witch with both staves
	and swords missing from her deck.
Let those hags waggle
	their tongues, boasts the Witch,
neighbors are forever

complaining. Besides
	Freda’s a liar and no one believes
a word that blockhead says
	and old Mrs. Cohen is simply a slut.
But I’m ordered to tidy

any loose remnants of myself.
	Later she screams, clean
yourself up, you’re a mess. And while
	she goes to market for cucumbers and goose
quills, I bathe in the oven, baked and reborn

from the little kiln of Gehenna.
	My obsession with fire
has begun, and when the Witch returns
	arms loaded, she doesn’t recognize that
in my stillness, I am amok.

con't.

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