Though the one you had your eye on
is rising north to south
the small star you thought died off
moves side to side slowly behind
the way an ancient blessing
still warns the absent moon
against those dark corners
all marble rubs across
becomes a single stone
that divides itself in two, here
an empty breast, there
the child is already dead
--you dress for this
bring the new scarf, new gloves
for what was evening once
was lullaby :the dirt
east to west, clumps
shining all around a place
already freed from the Earth
--new boots, new coat :a constellation
never here before, still cold.
This flag, as the saying goes
smacks from the sun
so you salute, can use the shade
though by the time the parade cools
your fingers ache from holding up
a lovingly carved radio that once
was a woman whose voluptuous breasts
still feed you music from the forties
--love songs for common prayer
as if July, too heavy to bear
spreads out on every lawn
and by the 4th day you are listening
the way loneliness is fed, the Earth
turning you slowly on course
corrects for winds and nourishment.
You're new at this
though in front each window
your eyes close just so far
are not used to a rain
that comes right up against you
won't move even when you make room
once you learn where to look
for the sky, for the shoreline
half gone ahead, half
peeling off and your fingers
clamp on to its sharp turn
covered with sand and thirst and death
--you never know
but this rain is dangerous
has saved its memory for last
put all its strength
in how to circle you down
as days and nights together.
Without any flowers
you are still breathing
--without a throat
still eating the warm air
though what's left from the sun
is no longer blue
hides the way your grave
is covered with stones
and still hungry
--you could use more stones
a heaviness to become your arms
one for working harder
the other invisible
leaving your heart
lifts from the dirt
your mouth, your eyes
and the sky letting go the Earth
as if you weigh too much.
As if it finished its last meal this long
sits back, waits inside for the stove
the way ashes roll over and all around you
trees are burning on rivers
that came from the first fire
still settling down as thirst
and the heady smoke flames leave behind
to be remembered by--from day one
their slow climbing turns, at first
threatening to gut the place and now
you can't live without them though your fingers
after so many years have become airborne
safe from the dangerous shadows all night
dripping between each breath and your mouth
left open--you pour in wood
to get death started :an arriving flame
surrounded by the Earth and tiny holes
--it's the only way you know how.
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 ebooks and his essay titled "Magic, Illusion and Other Realities" please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
