* by Simon Perchik
What you still carry to bed
is this water coming from a well
icing over, masks your cheeks
and though there's no pillow
it's your mouth that's melting
filling the hole where she used to sleep
-in such a darkness say what you want
this sheet took the white from your eyes
that look at nothing but walls
-you are washing your face with a room
emptied out to freeze her half
where there are no mornings left.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
What you still carry to bed
is this water coming from a well
icing over, masks your cheeks
and though there's no pillow
it's your mouth that's melting
filling the hole where she used to sleep
-in such a darkness say what you want
this sheet took the white from your eyes
that look at nothing but walls
-you are washing your face with a room
emptied out to freeze her half
where there are no mornings left.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press (2013). For more information, including free e-books, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
