Friday, July 01, 2005

Dangerous Places

(an older one)

I must take care not to peer back
through that gray slant of time
to when we lay arm against arm,
bodies flushed and moisture still seeping.

People I love march into places
I'm not yet ready to go.
They do not return in this lifetime.

My body has grown cautious,
fearful of high curbs and large dogs,
irritated by the squeals of small children.

I avoid mirrors,
magazine articles on aging
and women who dwell on their bladders.

Outside, my husband weeds.
Gray hair sprouts from his cheekbones.
He swats at it, as if a pesky fly.

My heart does not leap when
sweat draws his shirt tight
or his pants slip to show cleavage
I once traced with my forefinger.

He senses I watch,
glances upward, then away,
his gaze falling like autumn rain
onto the waiting weeds.


Pris Campbell
©2002


Published in Blackmail Press-2003

8 comments:

Michael Parker said...

Excellent work, Pris!

Pris said...

Thanks, Michael!

Geoff Sanderson said...

This is a stunner Pris - nostalgia, humour, bitterness, resignation all woven into one short poem. Hadn't seen this one before - love it.

Jill will never see me with these feelings - I never do the weeding lol. G.

Pris said...

Jill would never see you that way, anyway:-) She's got a winner in you! Yes, another older one, writ before I knew you. I've been pulling some of those out to post while I'm still a bit under the weather. Glad you like it.

Patty said...

Loved it! Thank you for posting.

Pris said...

Hi Patti
Thanks. I appreciate your visit.

Erin said...

So poignant and honest and real, this is wonderful. Just wonderful.

Pris said...

Erin
Thank you! It's always good to see your name pop up on my blog.
Pris