You gargle the way each morning
trusts the soft rustle from a dress
becoming dirt, set out on foot
looking for her in shadows
that no longer move though the sink
is covered with something weak
making believe it’s learned where
your fingers are holding the bottle
in a place not even it will remember
how empty your mouth is, lost
day after day spitting into the Earth
that still opens when you whisper to it.
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 (2013). For more information, including free e-books, and his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.