Untitled by Simon Perchik

Goes first though once airborne
your reflection changes shape
corrects for turbulence, backs off

breaking up between the mirror
and the faucet kept open
for headwinds lifting the water

to fit with what’s to come
–you will never be generous again
–one hand stays wet, the other

held up to stop its likeness
before it rises to the surface
as stone longing to face you

fly into your mouth, breathe for her
say to her the word after word
she will recognize as her name

spreading out for a sea, wings
to put your hands into
and the broken teeth trying to hold on.

by Simon Perchik

Editor’s Note: This free verse poem slides away as you read it. Pieces of imagery and hints of meaning coalesce at the end, and one is left trying to “hold on.” Isn’t this what it’s like to lose someone? Oneself? Memory fragments, and so does reality.

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