BY SIMON PERCHIK
It’s a simple thing, you weep
and though your eyes are silent
they don’t reach –what you see
is your heart covered with stones
that have no mornings either
except far off where all mist starts
the oceans are grieving on the bottom
holding down your forehead
–so easy a flower could do it
say in its face-up way, Leave!
there will be no more kisses
and from your mouth all Earth
overflows, becomes lips and distances
–that’s why nobody asks you
lets you imagine you see her clearly
knitting a blanket, a white one
rusted needles in both hands, you
walking by, already thorns, roots.
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.