The Wedding

Poland/1931

if there were locomotives to ride home on& no jewsthere would still be jews & locomotivesjust as there are jews & oranges& jews & jarsthere would still be someone to write the jewish poemothers to write their mothers’ names in light-just as others, born angryhave the moon’s face burnt onto their arms& don’t complainmy love, my lady, be a connoisseur of jewsthe fur across your lapwas sheddingon the sheet were hairsthe first jew to come to you is madthe train pulls into lodzhe calls youby your polish namethen he tells the other passengers a storythere are jews & there are alphabetshe tells thembut there are also jewish alphabetsjust as there are jewish locomotives& jewish hair& just as there are some with jewish fingerssuch men are jewsjust as other men are not jewsnot maddon’t call you by your polish nameor ride the train to lodzif there are men who ride the train to lodzthere are still jewsjust as there are still oranges&jarsthere is still someone to write the jewish poemothers to write their mothers’ names in light