Amnesia

I examine the shadow
that used to be us,
try to remember
days when you kissed me.
My lips are parched,
vagina sewn shut.
That part of my mind
has been excised, 
a psychic lobotomy.

Have I died, a ghost
treading these rooms in parallel,
unseen, ignored?

The winds have come up.
They sound like the cry 
of a thousand souls.
I think my mother cries with them

You rattle about in the kitchen.
Soon we will sit at the table
in silence, arms bent, dog begging.
Another day forgotten.
Another night yet to forget.



Pris Campbell
©2008

Published in OCHO, the Twitter edition, co-edited by Collin Kelly and Didi Menendez


Art: Jerry Uelsmann. Untitled 08.

Click HERE to visit his website of amazingly beautiful montages




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