And though the Earth no longer wobbles
you are rocked asleep still listening
̶ every footstep has your mother's breath
calling you safely out this ancient forest
where every voice smells from stone
growing where leaves should be
one by one gathered around you
to be swallowed whole as if they too
needed more darkness—your mouth
is closed now, making way for the tears
you hear as some almost forgotten lullaby
word for word warming the ground
the way you dead count by twos
side by side, try to remember
how to fall in a circle filled with statues
holding hands as if the silence
would carry them back as evenings
one by one, barefoot, waiting in the open.
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 Family of Man Poems published by Cholla Needles Arts & Literary Library, 2021. For more information including free e-books and his essay “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at simonperchik.com.
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