by Simon Perchik

  1. The dead are already holding hands
  2. and what’s left they share
  3. as memories –in the meantime
  1. who do you suppose makes this tea
  2. and the smoked fish, then room
  3. for the grandchildren you almost forgot
  1. were born later –the dead
  2. are no better at it than you
  3. –they mix up dates and places
  1. though what pins them down
  2. is no longer the flowers
  3. soothed by each other and vague streams
  1. –no, it wasn’t you lifting this cup
  2. passing itself off as empty
  3. with nothing inside to unwrap
  1. –from the start the dead form a circle
  2. as if they still expect to sing outloud
  3. and you would hear it, open your mouth.
Packingtown Review – Vol.7, Winter 2015/2016

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, free e-books, and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” please visit his website at simonperchik.com.

  1. Simon Perchik
    One hand held out – you expectpoetry