Without a ripple this jetty
full steam and though whales
will clear their throat
the gull can’t hear it’s next
struts on bedrock that already
twice a day surfaces
spits out the cooling skim
from molten iron and salt
–you dive into these rocks
for more light, more lift
and your feathers struggling
with that first shriek
that lasts forever in your sides
–for a split second
you build a nest
as if seaweed never dries
–the stench from open wounds
is nothing, claws and now a beak
no hands, nothing
–only your arms know the plunge
from a soft, warm face
into her eyes and terrifying love
washed ashore, wait
wave after wave, expect
that sobbing tilt the Earth
never forgot –by instinct
you hollow out this rock
into its painful seasons
face the same direction and fly.
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, his essay titled “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” please visit his website at www.simonperchik.com.
–Art by Barbara Florczyk