Simon Perchik
*
These gravestones left stranded
warped from sunrises and drift
–they need paint, tides, a hull
that goes mouth to mouth
the way seagulls come by
just to nest and preen
though death is not like that
it likes to stand and lean
scattering its brilliant feathers
–look up when you open the can
let it wobble, flow into you
till wave after powerful wave
circles as face to face
and your own loses itself
already beginning to harden.
*
You collect grass the way each star
Eats from your hand, trusts you
To become a nest for the afternoons
Not yet at home in the air, named for nights
That circle down, want to be night again
Take root in your chest as the ripples
From the long stone fallen into the water
Teaching it to darken, to stay
Then smell from dirt then shadows
―side by side you dead pull the ground closer
―with both arms need these whispers warm
already the place to ask about you
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The B Poems published by Poets Wear Prada, 2016. For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
Return to July 2017 Edition
These gravestones left stranded
warped from sunrises and drift
–they need paint, tides, a hull
that goes mouth to mouth
the way seagulls come by
just to nest and preen
though death is not like that
it likes to stand and lean
scattering its brilliant feathers
–look up when you open the can
let it wobble, flow into you
till wave after powerful wave
circles as face to face
and your own loses itself
already beginning to harden.
*
You collect grass the way each star
Eats from your hand, trusts you
To become a nest for the afternoons
Not yet at home in the air, named for nights
That circle down, want to be night again
Take root in your chest as the ripples
From the long stone fallen into the water
Teaching it to darken, to stay
Then smell from dirt then shadows
―side by side you dead pull the ground closer
―with both arms need these whispers warm
already the place to ask about you
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The B Poems published by Poets Wear Prada, 2016. For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
Return to July 2017 Edition