Jun 282010

by Simon Perchik

You don’t yell across a tree

the way streams have one shore

for darkness –what you do

is give back :decorate, float fruit

and ornaments already changing into hours

–you nurse with gifts, warm lights

and under each branch as if you come

with roots hanging by a thread

–you make the tree a woman, an urge

to hear the scream, Let me

and her child given this night

to be born again, tearing apart

by myself, the small cardboard box

wrapped with a ribbon still damp

and cast across the waters.