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 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
Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan Review, Forge, Poetry, Osiris, The New Yorker and elsewhere. His most recent collection is The Gibson Poems published by Cholla Needles, 2019. For more information, including free e-books and his essay “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities,” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.