Secret History

Of the light in my room: Its mood swings, Dark-morning glooms, Summer ecstasies. Spider on the wall, Lamp burning late, Shoes left by the bed, I’m your humble scribe. Dust balls, simple souls Conferring in the corner. The pearl earring she lost, Still to be found. Silence of falling snow, Night vanishing without trace, Only to return. I’m your humble scribe.

The Old Orphan

for Andrew Periale

The sparrows in the gutter knew you
And hopped out of your way.
The trash being blown about
By the wind gusting did as well.

A few scenes from your life
Were about to be performed
By a puppet theater in the park,
When it started to rain hard,

Charles Simic

2019

Light Sleeper

You were a witness
To so many crimes
In your lifetime, my friend,
No wonder most nights
You can be found
Testifying in a trial
In some country
Whose language
You don’t understand.

The proceedings
Interminably slow
With more corpses
Being dragged in
Their ghastly wounds
As you recall them
In your own eyes
And news photographs.

Charles Simic

2019

Hide and Seek

Haven’t found anyone 
From the old gang.
They must be still in hiding,
Holding their breaths
And trying not to laugh.

Our street is down on its luck
With windows broken
Where on summer nights 
One heard couples arguing,
Or saw them dancing to the radio.

The redhead we were 
All in love with,
Who sat on the fire escape,
Smoking late into the night, 
Must be in hiding too.

The skinny boy 
On crutches
Who always carried a book,
May not have 
Gotten very far.

Darkness comes early 
This time of year
Making it hard 
To recognize familiar faces 
In those of strangers.

Charles Simic

2018

Poems

Secret History

More by this poet

The Old Orphan

Light Sleeper

Hide and Seek

Poems

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Secret History

More by this poet

The Old Orphan

Light Sleeper

Hide and Seek

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