Pris Campbell, Bed of Nails

Pris Campbell


No gypsy’s tea leaves,
no crystal balls,
no voices in the night
warned me that you would lie
first on that bed of nails,
wings shorn,
pennies at the ready
for this day coming up faster
than a runaway train
towards that dark day
which is to be your last.

You were my Anthony
but you hid behind your shield.

I eventually left you
and the thread between us
stretched, yet never quite broke.

I remember shining armor,
gardenias in the breeze,
my bouquet pressed between
pages of a love story.

Now, with each breath a countdown,
I wonder if fire can once more
be swallowed into a man’s belly.

Author’s Comment: I enjoy writing about the oddities of life, loss, old loves, quirky people, dead people. Stand on the corner wearing a twenties aviator’s hat and you may end up in one of my poems. Cross me in love and you’ll certainly appear. More of my poems can be found at

Bio: The poems of Pris Campbell have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including PoetsArtists, Rusty Truck, Wild Goose Review, Bicycle Review, Chiron Review, and Outlaw Poetry Network. The Small Press has published six collections of her poetry and Clemson University Press a seventh one, a collaboration with Scott Owens. A former Clinical Psychologist, sailor and bicyclist until sidelined by ME/CFS in 1990, she makes her home in the Greater West Palm Beach, Florida.

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