Carrying the Torch
Sara finds her first gray hair, plucks it,
notices the good-looking guy in the faded jeans
staring at a twenty-something blond
near her in the Starbucks line.
Five years ago he would've sniffed
at Sara's heels, followed her down
the sidewalk, sent daisies.
Her face looks the same, but her eyes
show the marks of fleeing years.
She thinks about Norman, how he held
her heart in his hand, never knew
he toppled her when he left,
had no clue his leaving left holes
a grown woman could tumble into, helpless.
She thinks about the new man in her life,
knows it's not the same, that some loves
scorch you with the palm of their hand,
ignite a flame that never burns again
quite so bright, like a great sunrise
making the earth blush scarlet before
it moves on across the sky to new horizons.
Pris Campbell
©2009
