These petals taking command, the flower
pinned down and the work stops
–your breath dragged back
where it’s safe and in your lungs
hides the way each sky is named
after the word for stone
for this small grave each Spring
the dirt adds to till suddenly
you are full height, your lips
defending you against the cold
waiting it out in your mouth
–they too want you to talk
to call them by name
say what they sound like
turning away, alone, alone and alone.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 3.
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). Visit www.simonperchik.com.
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