When my father was singing
his song of death and the day moon
dipped so close to our house
you could kiss it,
we visited our other house,
the one I grew up in.
Lost relatives danced
under the pecan tree and eyeless
Muff rose from her backyard grave
to rub cold bones against me.
Carl and Glenn hung upside-down
in the chinaberry tree and 'god
bless everyone but Harry'
again threatened to flip me head
over heels til my pigtails fell loose.
My heart fell to the ground.
I tripped over it.
A Chagall sky draped me, the
clock of time burning one hip.
My father's death rattle rode in
on the rising wind, warned me of worse
losses yet to come but, like Ulysses,
I blinded myself. Those lying
sirens would not fool me.

Pris Campbell's poetry has appeared in Chiron Review, Mainstreet Rag, OCHO, Wild Goose Poetry Review, Boxcar Poetry Review and The Dead Mule Journal of Southern Literature. Recently, she was featured poet in From East to West, In the Fray, and Empowerment4Women. Her third book, Hesitant Commitments, is available from Lummox Press ( as is her recently released full length book, Sea Trails. She was nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize for 2010, and once for 2009. Sidelined by CFIDS in 1990, she currently lives in the greater West Palm Beach, Florida, with her husband. More of her poetry can be found at

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761