Wednesday, June 24, 2015

A Poem by Simon Perchik

This wall and sunlight
hiding under the faded wallpaper
though its flowers no longer move

--a single 3X5 snapshot
brings the room down
in flames and further off

the rickety wooden frame
smelling from corners
already broken open

lifted alongside in pieces
and the glass in pieces
holds you closer, closer

and your chest keeps warm
--it alone left standing
as if the wall you don't use anymore

could recognize the place
without getting lost, or your voice
or the arms next to her.

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Osiris, 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

1 comment:

  1. There is no poet like Simon Perchik. I recall the first time I read his work in small print magazines back in the mid-1960s. No titles back then, either. Just wonderful lines that forever require rereading and have a music of their own.