Thursday, July 28, 2005


That late Kansas summer, a tornado
sucked the air out of our lungs,
caved in windows, knocked over a barn,
stole furniture and dishes
from the woman two houses down.
When the air finally sat still,
you poured warm chocolate across my back,
feasted until your tongue resembled tornado dust.

I said I wanted you to hold me.
You rushed inside me instead.

At dawn, as you buttoned your shirt,
leaned over to kiss me,
my body still shaken from the upheaval
and my feet slipping beneath me,
I realized you would always
be my wild place, not my stable ground.

Pris Campbell

Published in Peshekee River Poetry Journal, Fall 2003


Geoff Sanderson said...

Well, that's one way to enjoy warm chocolate! Another wild, erotic and unpredictable poem from you Pris; as the man said of Cleopatra:
'Custom cannot stale her infinite variety.'

Pris said...

Hi G
The summer between my second and third years in grad school, I wrote Menningers in Topeka, Kansas, on the offchance I might get a summer job. They actually created one for me for having the gumption to write..half research assistant and half time 'ex-tern', following one of their interns around and learning. It was different. Due to the LOW pay, I lived in an honest to god boarding house--group meals at dinner and all-- and that summer always made an impression on me. But , alas, no chocolate licking:)

Michael Parker said...

This is excellent! IN my research of your publications, this didn't come up. I love it!

Pris said...

Thanks, Michael
I probably have a few more buried away, too:-)

none said...

Pris, a lovely ode to our tornado men

Pris said...

Thanks, Renata
Yes, those men do whirl around the corners of our lives, don't they?

Red said...

Pris wow I love this poem.. that ending line is exquisite. Yup the proverbial bad boy, us women love them don't we?


Pris said...

Long time no see. When I post at HH it's in the haiga section now. Thanks for peeking in and come back often. And yes, those bad boys will get us every time:-)