Visitations

He told me on Thanksgiving,
moved out by Christmas,
this man I finally married,
pirating away shared sea stories 
and memories of our footloose ways
in that post Vietnam, one-marriage-down era.

The woman I was disappeared with him.

Occasionally, she re-visits,
frowns at my matched sheets, drapes
to complement the sofa, husband
with hands folded in front of the tv.
She reminds me of sea wind in my face, 
clanking halyards, LP's strewn by the bed,
lava lamps, noisy communal meals 
and how that blue velvet bedspread felt, 
soft against my bare and trembling back.




Pris Campbell
©2008

Graphic by Pris Campbell

published in Wild Goose Review 2012



Return to Poetry Index II
Return to Homepage