CAMP FIRE WOMEN

CAMP FIRE WOMEN

My friend Julie is a Fire Keeper.

Sometimes all night she watches,

holds the flame at the center

of the world. It is her sacred way.

 

And mine? To search the forest,

to gather the wood: This for kindling,

this for tinder, this for cleansing,

this for a long and steady burn.


			

Winter Prompts #4: Another Cup of Coffee

ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE

Winter Prompt #4

 

But this is my first—unless you count all

the cups I’ve had, starting when I was sixteen,

at church camp, tired because I’d been up late

making out with another counselor.

Then almost every morning for the rest

of high school—Dad’s strong stuff—A & P’s Bokar

was it?—made in a cheap percolator.

Then bad college dining hall coffee, and

during exams, instant made with tap water.

The last cup I had with Tom, in “The Den.”

The first cup I had with John, in “The Den.”

The coffee I made in the Corningware

percolator we got as a wedding gift.

Later, we got  a Melita, because

some cool friends had one. We drank their coffee

while we plotted the revolution that

never came. And then my dear French press.

How many cups in how many coffee

shops with friends, or alone with a notebook?

How many in diners and restaurants?

How many, early mornings, in camp grounds?

So yes. Another one, this morning. Blue mug,

dark roast. The old white cat, my silver pen,

the glass-topped table desk, the brass lamp. . .

Jan. 23, 2018