Poem number 8 for National Poetry Month and a reminder that you're invited to respond with lines of your own or a piece you love. (Though all responses are welcome!) xo

By Edith Hope Bishop, December 2019

I’ll be the word you want.
In that moment of loss
when you’re certain there’s a term-
an expression-
for the idea-
the precise concept
you’re grappling with
yet failing to hold
but somehow sensing
a peripheral wisdom
you know the one.
Somehow its
slipped away-
escaped through
a hole in your pocket
a leak somewhere
just there
in the shadows
elusive as youth
and the sweet bliss
of first love
that word
that’s the one.
Let it be me
my name
that you finally find
and speak
and the sweet relief thereafter
the assurance that
you had me all along.


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