Moonlight Rider
It wasn't so much
that she minded her hair loss,
hiding the thick black locks,
piece by piece in her dresser.
Like a bride storing her trousseau.
Like waiting for a bridegroom to charge
down that old Highwayman's
street of dreams and carry her away.
Away from sad sanitized masks and the whoosh
of chemicals hostaging her bloodstream.
No, it was hoping that this time
he wouldn't be shot like a dog
in the moonlight and that she wouldn't
be Bess all over again, breastbone
shattered into a thousand irretrievable
memories, trying to save what could never
be saved from the get-go.
Pris Campbell
©2006
Chiron Review 2009
Art: Man on Horseback by Borch
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