Eruptions
Does any woman never imagine
running into that special old lover-
her Olympian God,
her angel we have heard on high,
the one who climbed into her heart
so deeply he split it?
His touch rocked my seismic meter off-scale,
this man who still walks into my dreams
occasionally.
He gave me a tart-red sexy hat
nightly earth shakes
and ,like Jericho, my walls fell apart.
He lives twenty minutes away.
That many years since I've seen him.
I tremble sometimes when I run to the pharmacy
or health food store.
What if he's there?
Will my heart bleed all over the soy and chick peas?
An aging woman, in a splattered tee,
making a fool out of herself
all over again.
Pris Campbell
©2008
Published in In The Fray, September 2008
Art: To be added
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