Poem By SIMON PERCHIK
*
She wraps your limp the way the sun
marks out its darkness and along the ground
pours a small circle –you’ll make it back
she says, writes on a pad kept open
how seabirds will call each other
over and over force their feathers
though your shadow too has taken on
that phase even the moon
with all its rivers and stars
–just two pills and at bedtime two more
which stone by stone will become
a second moon once you lay down
face up, floating midair, not yet asleep
reaching around the Earth
that stops as soon as you touch it.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review,
The Nation, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, free e-books and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.