Under A Bushel

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They say love is a light:
To let it shine, let it shine, let it shine,
But the bulb in my kitchen has been burnt out for a week now,
And my apartment is sitting in half-darkness most of the time.
I spend my days writing poems that no one will read,
Waiting for a phone call that never happens,
Creating origami flowers from letters that never come.
I’m hungry for something other than potatoes and rice,
The ache inside me like a sinkhole –
Swallowing up people, places, and things
As if nouns could ever satisfy the longing.
This kind of sadness requires adjectives.

lift-light-1

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

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One response »

  1. This is beautiful. As a poet, I understand. I have a great site/journal for you. The editor, Lorette, is wonderful. http://www.ekphrastic.net/ The poems are about art, but in the loosest sense. It’s about a painting/a song/ a photo/ a statue inspiring your work. The journal is based out of Toronto. I encourage you to check out the journal, read through it … your poems deserve to be read. Hugs, Cyndi.

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