She told it at family gatherings, until 
I felt sure I remembered, too, 
from some space between lifetimes--
my kicks inside her wet womb 
before story hour with her first graders.
Once upon a time and I lay still,
listening to the tales unfold,
was stilled again as a newborn with colic,
pain borne away by the wings of once upon
into the late star grained night.
She was my Mnemsyne, divine lover of Zeus;
I was her child-muse, gifted these sacred
stories yet to be scribed, my feet motionless,
my heartbeat a mere breath in the wind.

Pris Campbell
©2008



Art: Mother and Child by Klimt


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