Simon Perchik
It’s time! the ache side to side
and across your forehead
the wrinkles split open
–the cramp comes into this world
as the tightening grip
that has your eyes, your cry
takes you by the hand
the way its shadow falls
exhausted, in pain and now
two mouths to feed though one
is still invisible and you
are never strong enough
to lift it, to bathe it
as if it needed lullabies
would grow into your arms
held up to be carried
one next to the other
–what you hear in the ground
is the cry birds have, made crazy
from watching the sky forever
hold down the Earth though this rake
leaves nothing intact, its handle
half unnoticed, half
from behind, holding on, held
by the still damp dirt
floated out for more room
that enters from somewhere
and everything around you
backwards and forwards, covered over
with eggshells and emptiness.
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