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The Golem Envisions his Origins 2- The Golem, hearing the Fishwives, becomes Incited You canít 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 Fredaís a liar and no one believes a word that blockhead says and old Mrs. Cohen is simply a slut. But Iím ordered to tidy any loose remnants of myself. Later she screams, clean yourself up, youíre 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 doesnít recognize that in my stillness, I am amok.
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