Like so many decisions, made in haste;
his hand on your arm, bidding you stay,
while the crazy bluebirds circle, crying
yes, yes, and the great willows bend
in the wind, moaning yes yes.

And so you lay your head next to his,
listen again to his lies, try to believe
those bluebirds and the willow trees
and the flash rain that comes, coaxing
the earth back from grey and white, but

you know they lie, too--the foolish bluebirds,
feathers like sharp glass, the two-timing willows,
even the greedy rain, and so you rest pennies
on your eyes when he has finished,
draw a shroud across your face.

You recite your prayers to the weeping lady
across the street, knowing
tomorrow he will kill you again.


Pris Campbell
©2006

Art: Untitled by Richard Baxter, a gifted Australian artist who's graced my pages before.
To see more of his work, click HERE
He has taken first place in the yearly International Art Competitions and exhibits his work widely. 

copyrighted and used with permission

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