April is National Poetry Month. I’m going to attempt to write one poem every day this month. Today’s poem: 13/30 – April 13th.
Fire Dancing
We’re in the middle of nowhere,
Or so it seems
Potholes State Park – Moses Lake, Washington
Camping on our own mini island of sand
The sky,
e x p a n s i v e
It seems as if there are an infinity of stars
Blanketing the sky
My amazing step-dad, Frank, worked for Duroboat
Receiving one as a bonus
We had scores of adventures in that sweet lil boat
It took several trips in Frank’s
Bright yellow Duroboat
Transporting us and supplies
From the parking lot
To our island
One trip for a person or two
With the first load of supplies
Another trip or two for more supplies
More people
First order of business
Toilet paper roll slid onto a branch
With a hole dug for the call of nature
Gusts of wind so powerful,
At times flattening the tents
Dare not open your mouth facing the wind
Unless you enjoy a mouth packed with sand
Campfire going
Music on
Talking
Laughing
Bloody Marys tipped back
Talking
Laughing
Dinner cooked and eaten
S’mores next
Talking
Laughing
Drenched in wine
Dancing around the campfire
Nearly falling into the fire
The Duroboat running out of gas
On the way from our mini island
Back to the parking lot
Stranded
My handsome first love — Jim
Jumping in the frigid water,
Attempting to tread water plus tow the boat
Going nowhere fast
More laughing
Laughing
Laughing
Along comes a sightseeing ferry
Passengers pointing, having a good ole laugh
At our silly butts in that lil Duroboat
They toss a line to us
Give us a tow
They take pictures of us
We take pictures of them
A mutual good time
More laughter
The smell of campfire
Reminds me of celebrations
Enjoying life with my mom and Frank
My step-sister, Heather
Step-brother, Tony
My brother, Robert
Laughter
Good times
Coming together
Letting loose
Crazy times
Gratitude that we got to experience
These times with each other
The smell of a campfire
Reminds me of that time I nearly
Danced into the fire
Camilla Downs, 2024
(Photo of me and my step-dad, Frank. Not camping but around the same time, early 90’s.)
**Prompt: Write a poem that features a memory of a smell.