No. 8

Winter 2005

A simple bow :my arms
as ribbon will point to what's inside
hammering -- grease-caked rope
knotted for my highwire act
wrapped around a raft
splintering, rocks everywhere.

I hang on, low clouds, thunder
the sunset falling off the Earth, feathers
left and right :not one star
sinks to the bottom -- my arms

outcasts, shredded :the two sails
Noah forgot -- I'm kept from the shore
to dig only in backyards
where the wells hide
as Jews were buried, like water
used to pipes and sledges and creaking
clinging to water
their only home in this world

-- I hang on as if my heart too
a well, tainted
by a uniform, by banners and boots
waving, oiling even the ditches
even the children

-- who drinks this water!

I only want to find them
to drain the ditch again
let out the smoke -- to rope my arms
around and around as a sail
sees a raft breathe again

-- a water still burning the tiny socks
the shoes.
I hang on
till my feet are sore
-- I make a simple fist :a knot
for the rope lowered into the dirt :a stake
to measure my own heart
as if I were packing an empty glass
were leaving a country for good, wandering
again with water so heavy it bends.

Copyright 2005, Simon Perchik

nidus is an online publication supported by the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh's English Department.