Shifts
My husband shifts in the night
and I wake, make up memories
of what could have been
between us had my health held –
dancing through the house at midnight
or reading sonnets by candlelight
beside a dead poet’s grave.
Those love stories are written in fading ink.
An elephant crushes our house
whenever my thoughts go quiet,
this plain white sandstone
with overgrown hedges out back,
possums sniffing the moonlight.
Will my heart still have room to beat
when I run out of tales to tell?
The poems of Pris Campbell have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including PoetsArtists, Rusty Truck, Bicycle Review, Chiron Review, and Outlaw Poetry Network. The Small Press has published eight collections of her poetry and Clemson University Press a collaboration with Scott Owens. When The Wolves Come After You, with Michael Parker, from Goss Publications and Squalls on the Horizon, a book of tanka, from Nixes Mate and My Southern Childhood are her most recent small press books. A former Clinical Psychologist, sailor and bicyclist until sidelined by ME/CFS in 1990, she makes her home in the Greater West Palm Beach, Florida, with her husband.
As always, a strong poem, Pris. Your words are good to read.
I really love the honesty in this and can identify with it on many levels.
not playing possum…thanks
Beautifully bittersweet – powerful!
Thank you all for your comments. I appreciate them so much.