A Poem by Simon Perchik

You learn not to count on funerals

You learn not to count on funerals
or the fog waiting at shorelines
weighed down by a horn that never leaves

— just another day with no morning
lowered the way your shoulders
are surrounded by those mountain streams

the mad drink for the immense light
left in the open as ice and useless
though you keep a glass nearby

place a small stone on the water
— a calming gesture that lets you
move closer, listen in on the rain

falling from your forehead — the dead
are used to shows like this, hand over
their flowers and you reach down

can’t make out how far you pressed
naked against this floor, covered it
with snow and branches.


About Simon Perchik

A former Ray’s Road Review contributor, Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” and a complete bibliography, please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.