Sunday, 12 August 2012

Simon Perchik

Again this snow, its cry
seems to come from a bird
from a simple sip at the headwind
and melting cramp -I have forgotten

plant empty jars, opened boxes
-it's useless! a branch from nowhere
and the sun's cut through :a scalding rain
half feathers, half ashes, half gravestones

-I forget, rinsed cans and plates
still buried, filling with snow
and the Earth each Spring heavier
an underground stream somehow
wandering away -I water the lost
-I water and from my other hand

and under the snow
this raging hillside tightening
-I still collect cardboard flaps
stuffing lids and bottle tops
wait at the holes the way I once called out
sifting each damp shadow.
You were always thirsty. 

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review,The Nation, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. For more information, including free e-books, photo, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” and a complete bibliography, please visit his website at