by Simon Perchik
To this day women wake earlier
--long, overflowing gowns and the sun
whose kiss occurs only once, their lips
stay red even when saying goodbye
--they pour that heat across their thighs
and babies everywhere the same
turning to what is warm, smells from light
and the soft breath calling forever.
To this day under every belly the small lake
freezes over and women all night
listen for those sure steps
sleepless inside the heart
--they place what they love
near the window --on an ordinary morning
opened and the curtain
filling on all sides.
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, The New Yorker, and elsewhere. Readers interested in learning more are invited to read Magic, Illusion and Other Realities at www.geocities.com/simonthepoet which site lists a complete bibliography.