Sacrament

Brave as a pubescent virgin
stared down by a bored whore,
I arrive at your bed. 
My knees knock like thunder 
under the rainbow that forms 
on your ceiling. 

Did I bring my red shoes? 

'It's too late' the old ladies cry 
out their windows. 
'It's too late,' the street beggars echo. 
Their cups jingle in the alley below. 

My husband snores where my footsteps 
began. Spiders encase him with webs. 
The goodbye mum I lay on his chest 
has already withered and died. 

Surely he must hear the creak 
on your floorboards. Does the sound 
of my dress rising, then falling 
not awaken him? Do my bared breasts 
make him dream of our first plum 
tree, covered with blossoms again? 

My hand trembles, shatters 
the glass on your bed stand. 
My blood christens your bed.

Pris Campbell
©2005

Art: The Last Entrance to Life
    by Micheal U. Johansson
   copyrighted and used with permission.

Click HERE to visit Michael's site to learn
more about him as an artist and view more
of his dynamic artwork.

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