Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Putting the receiver to the cupped side of my leaning face, I'll listen to an old, dead phone, a husk with a sound echoing inside like a seashell: I tune into the static as if they were waves sweeping in and out of my eardrum, hear the whisper of voices asking the operator to pass on last sighs.
0
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
Husk
Putting the receiver to the cupped side of my leaning face, I'll listen to an old, dead phone, a husk with a sound echoing inside like a seashell: I tune into the static as if they were waves sweeping in and out of my eardrum, hear the whisper of voices asking the operator to pass on last sighs.
I thought of the word 'husk' and wanted to use it somehow. I might not be done with this piece, so be warned that I may edit it!
conor-letham
Written by
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem