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.