{"id":1062,"date":"2011-03-13T01:18:48","date_gmt":"2011-03-13T01:18:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1062"},"modified":"2011-03-13T14:43:32","modified_gmt":"2011-03-13T14:43:32","slug":"pris-campbell-311","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/","title":{"rendered":"Pris Campbell, 3\/11"},"content":{"rendered":"

Headless
\n<\/strong><\/span>
\nI search mother’s photo album<\/span>
\nfor the man who no longer exists.<\/span>
\nTorn-out\u00a0holes sit among family<\/span>
\nand friends beside the ocean,<\/span>
\nat parties, on our small boat.<\/span><\/p>\n

Those photos aren’t unlike<\/span>
\nthe way I felt after his sudden departure.<\/span>
\nI made my way recklessly through dark days,<\/span>
\nbumped into walls, fell often,<\/span>
\nuntil one day, stone turned back to flesh<\/span>
\nand I remembered how light once sizzled.<\/span><\/p>\n

He warned me earlier that he was a landslide,<\/span>
\nthat he would slip out from under my feet, <\/span>
\nbecome a moth\u00a0seeking brighter flames.<\/span><\/div>\n

I didn’t believe him.<\/span>
\nHe was my Heathcliff, my Mr. Darcey.<\/span><\/p>\n

Mother always said he was my road<\/span>
\nbest not taken.<\/span><\/p>\n

I wish I could tell her<\/span>
\nshe couldn’t protect me<\/span>
\nfrom natural disasters, illness,<\/span>
\nor men leaving, that holes<\/span>
\ndidn’t erase a man’s memory<\/span>
\nand silences didn’t quieten him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
Dreamcatcher<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
Heat demons rise from the sidewalk,<\/span>
\nmake faces when I dare glance<\/span>
\nfrom my house, trapped in the concrete<\/span>
\nthat crushes South Florida.<\/span>
\nAir struggles fruitlessly to move<\/span>
\nbackwards through time to wetlands<\/span>
\nwhere Seminoles once roamed.<\/span><\/div>\n
Part Indian, he lurks in this jungle–<\/span>
\nmy old lover, arrows jammed<\/span>
\ninto his umbrella, his briefcase,<\/span>
\nbow, in the trunk of his car.<\/span>
\nHe sings love songs in my dreams,<\/span>
\nbow and arrow behind him.<\/span>
\nI cover old scars with a robe,<\/span>
\nhold out my dreamcatcher.<\/span><\/div>\n
He fades to black.<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
Pocketing God <\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n
She steals pain meds<\/span>
\nfrom a friend dying of cancer,<\/span>
\nspits out a mouthful of lies<\/span>
\nto cover both sets of tracks.<\/span><\/div>\n
In her over-drugged pre-Apocalyptic haze,<\/span>
\nshe finds God, pockets him<\/span>
\nfor future reference.<\/span><\/div>\n
She looks into her mirror<\/span>
\npast the vacant spot<\/span>
\nwhere hope used to live,<\/span>
\nshrugs, wonders if her pink<\/span>
\nor red dress will\u00a0 best<\/span>
\nfool the crowds tonight.<\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Headless I search mother’s photo album for the man who no longer exists. Torn-out\u00a0holes sit among family and friends beside the ocean, at parties, on our small boat. Those photos aren’t unlike the way I felt after his sudden departure. I made my way recklessly through dark days, bumped into walls, fell often, until one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1062","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nPris Campbell, 3\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Pris Campbell, 3\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Headless I search mother’s photo album for the man who no longer exists. Torn-out\u00a0holes sit among family and friends beside the ocean, at parties, on our small boat. Those photos aren’t unlike the way I felt after his sudden departure. I made my way recklessly through dark days, bumped into walls, fell often, until one […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2011-03-13T14:43:32+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"1 minute\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/\",\"name\":\"Pris Campbell, 3\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2011-03-13T01:18:48+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2011-03-13T14:43:32+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Archives\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":3,\"name\":\"Pris Campbell, 3\/11\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/\",\"name\":\"Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\",\"description\":\"Archives Of Previous Issues\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Pris Campbell, 3\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/pris-campbell-311\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Pris Campbell, 3\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)","og_description":"Headless I search mother’s photo album for the man who no longer exists. Torn-out\u00a0holes sit among family and friends beside the ocean, at parties, on our small boat. Those photos aren’t unlike the way I felt after his sudden departure. 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