I loved to carry br Her violin case, its nose br In air, its back end br Nice and heavy, the balance br Factored in and factored out. br br Every time she placed br Her two thumbs to the two snibs br And opened the lid br She couldn’t help a quick frown br (Disguised pleasure?) as she checked. br br Then her brow would clear br And the sun disc of her face br Tilt up and brighten br At the tap of a baton, br At the tip of a baton… br br In the baize-lined case br Emptied of the ingrown jut br Of the fiddlehead, br A lump of ancient resin br And a dirty chamois cloth. br br The conductor’s hands – br Big and out of proportion br To his skinny wee br Professor’s body–always, br she said, “interested” her. br br Fiddlehead ferns: why br do I think of them do I br Think: Toraiwa? br Because–surprise–he quizzed me br about the erotic life.