Pris Campbell
The Second Before
I know it—in that thin slice of air where the world tilts and your body forgets its vulnerabilities. The sidewalk rises up fast, all rough-shouldered and unfeeling, and I think, so this is how it happens. No warning song. No soft landing.
Just gravity taking my hand like an old lover who never learned tenderness.
Time stretches, thin as a tired breath. I don’t pray. Don’t bargain. No time for that. Just knowing that I’ll be hurt bad, and still rise afterward, carry the sting home like an unwanted souvenir from a trip I never meant to take. And with the impact, as the breath is torn out of me, the dirt-tinged taste of being mortal.
half-dug graves
a shovel lies
among the daisies
About the Author
Pris Campbell’s work has appeared in numerous print and online journals. She’s placed or had an honorable mention in several competitions, including first place in the Marlene Mountain and the Sanford Goldstein 2021 contests, and 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.