Monthly Archives: October 2015

That Trick With The Cherry Stem

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Even if you learn that trick with the cherry stem,
they won’t stay.
Your lovers will evaporate like water in a kettle boiled dry,
before the coffee is pressed,
before you are dressed,
because your mouth is a graveyard of kisses.
Other people’s teeth and tongues
pass between your stained lips to die.
Sighs of desire, of lies, of satisfaction, of lies, of promises, of lies
float like ocean debris on your saliva.
They don’t say your name because they don’t know who you are.
You don’t hear your name because you don’t know who you are.
Your bed is a container for the carcasses of caresses gone by,
the sheets are a museum displaying the ancient burial techniques of a lonely womyn:
hopes mummified in cotton, perfumed with stale cigarette smoke, sprinkled with cracker crumbs, matted in cat fur.
A night with you is more funerary rite than passion.
A knotted cherry stem is only a headstone in a place people are afraid to linger.

 

 

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This work, “That Trick With The Cherry Stem” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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The Darkness

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“Yes. Yes. Yes. I hear. Your silence is loud.” – Anne Sexton, A Portrait in Letters

My arms only stretch so far.
I have popped them out of their sockets to keep reaching for you,
Hoping that if I try a little harder my fingertips might actually brush yours
And I might be able to pull you out of the darkness.

Sometimes, I think you prefer to stay in the darkness.

I have carved off pieces of my heart and laid them at the altar of your friendship.
I have fasted to become pure for you,
I have tithed to become holy for you,
I have spoken your name like a prayer.
You hide your face with your hands in order to blot out my existence with the darkness.

Sometimes, I think you prefer to stay in the darkness.

I have been calling to you for weeks now,
But my voice only bounces back to me off the cliffs of your concrete spine.
You refuse to turn around, refuse to hear me, refuse to answer back.
This is how you remind me of what my worth really is to you.
I am only another shadow in your room full of darkness.

Sometimes, I think you prefer to stay in the darkness.

Love is a ridiculous emotion.
It keeps me ripping the cartilage in my arms
As I keep stretching into the abyss,
Hoping to find you somewhere out there,
Reaching out to me,
Taking hold of my hand,
Speaking words of kindness,
Instead of pulling me into a darkness of my own.

Sometimes, I think I prefer to stay in the darkness.

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This work, “The Darkness” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Flies

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He tells me that the flies are not good for my image.
I want to tell him that the spider webs that hang between my ribs are not for decoration,
That my fingers are locusts and my lips are earthworms.
My skin slides off my bones, soft, putrid, decomposing.
The flies keep the snakes in my hair company and give them something to eat.
Stare deep into my cockroach-coloured eyes, my love,
And kiss me before you realize that I am a corpse who has not yet died.

41971-american-dad-roger-gets-a-mammogram
Hilariously creepy.

Creative Commons License
This work, “Flies” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.