ONE CURE ONLY

by Burgess Needle

At dawn, no matter his mood, one cure only
for his fractured soul, Bach’s violin Concerto No. 1
        with A Minor chords lapping wall to wall
        against religious law.
He wrapped the black leather strap
       around his middle finger and left arm
       ah, his tefillin received upon bar mitzvah.
Placed the phylactery two fist-width from the tip of his nose
       murmuring inside all the while
       blessed art thou who sanctified us with
      His commandments and has commanded us
                   to lay tefillin
He’d kept his own brittle shellac recording
         of Menuhin and Enesco with tracks laid
        down by Aufgenommen in the ‘30s.
Resonating as he considered  the black box on his head
        symbolized his mind and thoughts
        just as the arm straps represented
                 his actions and deeds.
Exhale in joy before the Orchestre Symphonique de Paris
       prepare for the world of numbers, he thought
       prepare for the world of goyim in my disguise
Acknowledge light peering through the blinds
      he thought of his son-to-be and what he would show him
      as the Concerto’s Andante wended its own quiet way
      within an elegant framework that sheltered
               and threatened its existence
As his own life felt dread every new day
               the sun’s blessing and the night’s threat
               time for work time for life
                           time to kiss his wife goodbye.