Gris-Gris, an online journal of literature, culture & the arts

So many dead! let this pebble find her

by Simon Perchik

So many dead! let this pebble find her
and its own never ending emptiness
to guide you through these graves

–you almost hear her undress, far off
half matted hair, half as if each cave
is filled with echoes –bats are good at it

shoulder to shoulder the way your shadow
wing over wing is uprooted, worm eaten
no longer the whisper between your fingers

and her breasts –such a small thing, a pebble
coming in low, brought down by a death
left standing, holding fast to lakes

oceans, sleep –you sleep on the ground now
alongside weeds and her comb still warm
from edges, corners and mornings.