The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2019

* Simon Perchik As if your death is not yet the same weight traps count on though you are leaning back putting dirt in your mouth while to the last pebbles come by to shelter you, lie down — you will have to die some more, brought this far by what moonlight has to say about holding on — you have to eat from a hand that’s opened till your grave is too heavy, fills broken into for each goodbye hidden away as the breath clinging to footstones that wander past, throwing a cloud over you, boarded up as mountainside and so many deaths at once — here even rain is comforted to keep you dry — whole families sitting down, waiting for you to walk in, forget something somewhere else. The Meadow 121