First Night
The night after that first
hurricane we walked into
yards stacked with lost
trees, wood fences, roof
shingles and somebody's
old lawn chair and it was
dark, so very dark, like
a plug had been pulled
on South Florida and it was
the First Night all over again
before Eve gave Adam the
apple and so black I could see
the Milky Way, the Dipper,
and the Man In the Moon's
grin and so quiet, like Nature was
humming Hosanna in the Highest,
and I was part of the chosen choir.
Pris Campbell's poetry has been published in Niederngasse, MiPo Publications (print and digital), Thunder Sandwich, Blackmail Press, Peshekee River Poetry, Limestone Circle (print), Erosha, MindFire, Dakota House, Verse Libre, Remark Journal, and several anthologies. She has placed first or second in a number of poetry competitions judged by various journal editors. Her chapbook, Abrasions, can be ordered from Rank Stranger Press. She lives in the greater West Palm Beach, Florida. Formerly a Clinical Psychologist, she is currently sidelined by CFIDS. (campris@bellsouth.net)