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