2012: Simon Perchik – Still

Poetry Section from the 2012 issue.

By Simon Perchik

It’s a meal, your elbows
crawling the way this soap
is shaped by salt

though she still believes
the water stays young
by letting you touch it

washing her shoulders
with undersea prairies
as if an arm so old

could still reach out
make room in her breasts
for nourishment

and already your fingers
smell from saliva
and empty riverbeds

kept wet for these wrinkles
taking away her cheeks
her legs and agony.

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