Print

Poem – By Simon Perchik

 

This shallow dish dead center

though its glass is commonplace

shimmering into mist

 

–it’s not the usual birth

or that fragrance still moist

from the womb, reaching out

 

to be born in the open

–you cool this tea

the way every breath

 

divides in half then half again

and again till all that’s left

is snow –what you drink

 

already has your eyes, your lips

and between your hands

its scent ices over where once

 

there was nothing –side to side

you darken this water as if the moon

still rocks the Earth asleep

 

–you sip this darkness

let it stain your voice

your whispers frozen to the bottom.

 

 

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.

 

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.