Simon Perchik: TWO POEMS • Cleaver Magazine

Simon Perchik
TWO POEMS

[THERE IS SKIN EVEN THE SKY]

*
There is skin even the sky
seeps through—both arms
weighted down though you

are flying through dirt
and under this faucet
hear it clouding over

already hillside and grass
—you listen for water
broken apart by the handfuls

making room, falling behind
in streams not yet the gravel
covering your forehead

as if this water itself
was still in pain, chased
and the soap too heavy.

[EXCEPT FOR THE NEW SUIT]

*
Except for the new suit
the boy in the photograph
is starting to wave again

though you dust its frame
half sweetened wood, half
no longer exhausted

drawing sap and the rag damp
from brooding—you spray
then wipe, ready this wall

the way each small stone
is rinsed side to side as the river
that carries off one shore

the other each year heavier
holding you from behind
screeching across, wet with saliva

with nothing in writing
or a button you can open
for its scent and mist.

Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The Nation, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. His most recent collection is Almost Rain, published by River Otter Press. For more information, including free e-books and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com. Read more poetry by Simon in Issue 18.