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Graveyard Confessions...



Artwork by Wardel
Midi is "Ballad"


                         Did you know I could sing? 
                         Six note range, 
                         Slightly off-key 
                         Not my mother's celloing alto 
                         or my cousin's sweetsonged soprano 
                         A voice more suited for campfire or shower, 
                         silly rhyme songs 
                         crooned til the neighborhood kids 
                         grabbed bellies and roared 

                         Was it a lifetime ago 
                         that I struck operatic pose,
                         bellowed out Carmen to husband,
                         shaking head in amazement 
                         at this crazy woman he'd wed 

                         I didn't sing on my bike. 
                         Too many flies. 

                         There are other confessions
                         yet to be sung.

                         I still miss.....

                         my father's Silver Queen corn, 
                         fresh from the garden, 
                         snacking on fried green tomatoes
                         cold Carolina nights 

                         Country roads circling my hometown, 
                         pines, pastures, and white country churches 
                         baled hay 
                         horses, and cows 
                         healthy and left to run free 

                         Sweet smelling flowers  
                         bright muumuu dresses 
                         soft strumming of ukes 
                         Aloha Days in Hawaii. 

                         Isle of Shoals overnights 
                         watching the sun die, 
                         stars born from its death.
                         luminescents clinging to anchor
                         down the dark deep 


                         These confessions, my legacy
                         carve them into stone
                         Let the granite sing for me
                         when my own song is gone. 

                         Pris Campbell 
                         Copyright 9/14/1997 
                         (revised 8/29/2001) 





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