top of page

Untitled Poem


Though it gets dark earlier and earlier

you were already weakened at birth

–without a shrug let go things

the way each grave is graced

used to being slowly moved along

blossom and in your mouth

a somewhat pebble half fruit

half sweetened, not yet

broken apart in your throat

–you can’t make out where in the turn

you are clinging to its path

that led you here, not yet strong enough

or longing for some riverside or rain

or the night by night, warm

still falling off your hands.

 

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The Osiris Poems published by box of chalk, 2017. For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.


Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Kathleen Hellen

city of flaneuse, in crayolas with lines from the Rolling Stones Peach that used to be flesh-colored Indian Red (extinct)—now comes in colors head scarf in magenta, jogger barbie pinked comes dogwalke

"Stop Tagging Me in Photo Albums" by Vicki Liu

My first date’s hobby was going to therapy. The conversation was excellent then I never called him back. Amazing how I once ate a frozen grape and felt like I was tasting god. I’ll never go to a garde

"Ill-Conception"by Jacob Griffin Hall

Growing up, I never wanted to be anything. Someone walked with me, a babysitter maybe, and watched as I pocketed a handful of thorns. I never thought they’d make a memorable crown. No one died when I

bottom of page