Today's poem is by Betsy Sholl


Let me give back to God
his jacket, his locket,
his thin slippers,
sunglint, sleetspit, stars.
And here's my cracked,
my sullen, unstrung
guitar, hung like a rabbit
in the butcher's window,
a hole in the belly
where a song should be.
Emptiness only
emptiness can see—
Let this be my prayer.
Does anything belong to me?

Copyright © 2014 Betsy Sholl All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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