The Choice

chair listening to Wagner, how she would weep. I will go to the
symphony. And for Klara, I’ll seek out every performance of
Mendelssohn’s violin concerto. at longing and wistfulness. e
urgency as the line climbs, and then the rippling cadenza, the crashing,
rising chords. And then the more sinister theme in the strings,
threatening the solo violin’s rising dreams. Standing on the sidewalk,
I’ve closed my eyes so I can hear the echo of my sister’s violin. Magda
startles me.
“Wake up, Dicu!”
And when I open my eyes, right here in the thick of the city, near
the entrance to the park, there’s a concert poster advertising a
performance with a solo violinist.
The picture on the poster is my sister’s.
There on the paper my Klarie sits, holding her violin.