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Nov 142010
 

by

Simon Perchik


Each Halloween and lifting the door

I back away in horror, throwing apples

–the dead are always hungry

but on this night already icing over

they come without moving their lips


–even these sweets smell from ashes

from snow burning to the ground and you

are water now, wandering door to door

the way mountainsides sometimes forget

and nothing can be heard

except this thin waxpaper, unfolded

crackling in my hands.


For this first frost

I set a trap :your grave

as if some candy bar once unsealed

would flow again –with each step

I’m falling through the Earth

overtaking name by name.


You did not come tonight, the dirt

must still be warm from fruit

and sandwiches –at the door

with one hand out

I tell something to eat

not to forget where it eats

where it sleeps and in half.