What It's All About
I read about him four years ago...
caught,
compressed
into a wooden box
slightly taller
than an egg crate,
no longer
than a child's bed
no windows
no door
no white picket fence
this prisoner of war
must have wondered,
would he ever again
sit down to a juicy steak,
gaze at the full moon,
savor the softness of a woman
moaning beneath him
in the beginning
he prayed daily
for a release that didn't come
he began to play golf
eighteen holes a day
walked the course
chose his club
breathed in the fresh air
cheered as the ball
plunked into the cup
seven years later
the box was pried open
light hurt his eyes
in time,
his body
a bent twig,
he limped
to a golf course,
played the best game
of his life.
from my own box,
constructed of a body
overwelmed by dizziness,
undefineable fatigue,
broken relationships
hunger for passion
i often think of his courage
hope,
like him,
I will find my own road
to survival, too
Pris Campbell
(c)2002
Artwork: Blue Nude by Matisse
Music: Wistful Dreams by Dave Edwards
(All music copywritten 2002. Used with permission)
