Sara in the Sky

Sara's tired all the time,
can't run with the boy. 
She falls into walls, she's dizzy.
Words drift like snowflakes when he chatters; 
she tries hard to catch them.
Her body's a stone, her mind, mud.
The boy pours his own cereal
heads to school, shirt inside out.
One blue sock. One white one.
Doctors frown, tell her she's crazy.
Friends just want the old Sara,
say it's blocked energy, too little roughage,
maybe suction from a roving Black Hole.
She's glad Norman pays rent, sends money.
Nights she dreams she's dancing again,
skirt filled like a parachute.
The moon paints her hair gold.
Stars etch her face into the sky.



Pris Campbell
©2008

Photo found at THIS SITE





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