Unexpected Shoals

Old loves fall like soft raindrops
into my dreams lately.
My first husband.
The black eyed lover.
Now you.

I still won't call you by name.
To do so is to remember
when you still loved me,
and a wailing wall bars that time 
from now.

I dreamed I found our old sailboat
seared into the shoreline.
Despite desperate birds scavenging and old men 
leaning hard over metal detectors,
I discovered a winch, a bracelet you bought
for my birthday, our flag and a framed photo 
of us mugging for an unseen photographer.
You kissed me after, hands already lifting
the edge of my tee, eager to go below.

I gathered my findings, carried them upshore
and buried them.

I didn't bury the flag.
I left that as a warning for new lovers,
to take good care in their own odysseys,
a reminder not to wear blinders
against shoals lurking in desolate nights.

Pris Campbell
©2006 (revised 2008)

Art: The Boat or Angel With Corona by Redon


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