Undertow
I expected my father's death
to draw the sea to my feet,
the water threatening to bear me
away with it--not mother's.
Our voices were constant coils
of disagreement; my hair was too long.
I was too thin. My clothes were too tight.
My mish-mash of dishes would never do
if the relatives came down for Christmas.
I lived 'in sin' with a man, traveled with him,
tossed away my bra to her mortification.
After my knees buckled
and illness pinned me to my bed of thorns,
the core of metal between us softened,
became a pillow to rest our heads upon, but
she slipped quietly into that undertow
and I was left alone on the beach, a girl again,
weeping.
Pris Campbell's poetry has been published in Poems Niederngasse, MiPo Publications (print/digital/radio), The Cliffs: Soundings, The Dead Mule: An Anthology of Southern Literature, Peshekee River Poetry, MindFire, Dakota House, Verse Libre, MEAT (a broadside published by S.A. Griffin), Remark Journal, and numerous anthologies. Her chapbook, Abrasions, was published by Rank Stranger Press and Interchangeable Goddesses with Tammy Trendle by Rose of Sharon Press. She lives in the greater West Palm Beach, Florida, with her husband, one crazy dog and, now, one stray, fixed cat who rode out Hurricane Wilma in her house with four newborn kittens. Formerly a Clinical Psychologist, she is sidelined by CFIDS. (campris@bellsouth.net )