a poetry e-zine

 

 

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

Simon Perchik
And though you dread the mail
this note is used to her arms
folding over your eyes

brushing aside the dust
that’s unimportant now
–you can’t make out the name

floating up as salt, empty
with some small sea beginning
clings the way every envelope

is carried along, half evenings
half sinking back into darkness
and word after word while they last.


*


To warm this grave its wick
is lit the way a small stone
ignites the Earth with footsteps

brought here to become the glow
dirt breathes in, half harvest
half let go and though the night sky

no longer makes room
it still thickens –you gather
as if all stones are emptied

for their canary-in-the-mine wind
darkness alone can calm, turn back
and your arm at last on its side

folded over the other :ice
headed for winter, filled
without a past, without faces.



Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The
Nation, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection
is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information,
including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities”
please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.

 

Copyright 2016  Chantarelle's Notebook