Star Wars Campside

After I’d resigned to returning from the mountains with no poem in hand, this emerged over evening dishes. Originally Ode to the Adventurers, it was my contribution to the digital post-camp chorus of What a blast! It was wonderfuls from the families. In the spirit of roughing it, I’ve resisted the temptation to refine it more than I did.

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The dirtiest – and so happiest,
Mom discovered – our boy’s ever been

Wading by the lakeside, painting by lantern:
blue nails and purple rocks

Star Wars duel amid dirt kicked up by kids
undying like their dreams, finger-laced
head bands knit by friendship
A boy’s first campfire:
“Mom, can we stay here ten nights?”

Faces glazed with sleep and S’mores
Night’s smoke murmur of
moms and dads glad in company
California fire circle a shadow of fellowship
in an immortal place

Inside their tents, little ones burrow into fresh
memories of blowing bubbles under star sky,
and the smell of charcoal

We came home
baptized with dirt and love, to
the burden and relief of laundry;
small irredeemable socks, a far cry from white
the most purpose-driven shower of my life
(Notice Mom’s preoccupation with dirt?)

We breathed Earth, Sky, Water
Enchanted Trail indeed.

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