by Simon Perchik

Lost and without a wall you are unsure
what stays dark, what will move
once a flashlight is waved in front

and the plane in the picture begins to flicker
taking hold one hand all these years
dead, smothered under the frame

half dry wood, half morning
and though there’s no sky yet
you are flying again

wobbled by winds no one sees anymore
making room in the fleece-lined glove
that can’t tell where your fingers are.


Simon Perchik is an attorney whose poems have appeared in Partisan
, The New Yorker, and elsewhere.  For more information,
including his essay “Magic, Illusion and Other Realities” and a complete
bibliography, please visit his website at

Home         Apple Valley Review, Fall 2011         Next page
Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary

ISSN 1931-3888

Volume 6, Number 2
(Fall 2011)

Copyright © 2011
by Leah Browning, Editor.  

All future rights to material
published in the
Valley Review
are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.