October 2015
I live near the tip of Long Island New York and since my retirement, after 30 years of practicing law, I make the daily trip to town where I write for hours in the local coffee shops. My poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Osiris, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. My most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, free e-books and my essay titled "Magic, Illusion and Other Realities" please visit my website at www.simonperchik.com.
Palms up, you’re used to winter
as the sound not yet these rocks
breaking off between one clearing
and the other — you already know
what’s to come, pull up
the way piece by piece still remembers
the first snow and now the Earth
keeps everything to itself
though what you lift is always cold
starting over, filling each stone
by hand, further and further
almost in two and frail.
as the sound not yet these rocks
breaking off between one clearing
and the other — you already know
what’s to come, pull up
the way piece by piece still remembers
the first snow and now the Earth
keeps everything to itself
though what you lift is always cold
starting over, filling each stone
by hand, further and further
almost in two and frail.
©2015 Simon Perchik