Pris Campbell
Time Eats Our Dreams
In my thirties I decide if I practice that my parents are dying, then cry, I’ll be ready when they actually go. Periodically, I imagine the most important people in my life gone, the ones I can always count on, the people whose arms and hearts are always open. I weep cold tears until surely I’m dehydrated and hope later will be easier. This was before Diane Keaton confesses to doing the same in Annie Hall and I find a kindred spirit. After six weeps I decide I’m ready. But when the time eventually comes, I discover grief can’t be scheduled.
baby trees grow to become giants my father’s garden lies covered by sod, waiting fruitlessly for his return
About the Author
Pris Campbell’s work has appeared in numerous print and online journals. She has also placed or had an honorable mention in several competitions, including first place in the Marlene Mountain and the Sanford Goldstein 2021 contests, and has published nine books/chapbooks. A former clinical psychologist until sidelined by ME/CFS in 1990, she makes her home with her husband in Southeast Florida.