Bare foot we’d run through
green grass, over stones,
tarry roads and clover with bees.
We’d find a green branch,
carve the tip with a pocket knife
and build a campfire.
It was time for a neighborhood wiener roast,
when aunts, uncles, cousins, friends
would bring all the fixings.
After eating hotdogs, hamburgers, etcetera,
we’d still have room for watermelon
and have a seed spitting contest.
When the fireflies came out,
we’d roast marshmallows black,
and sing around the campfire.
These memories knit us together,
even when we’re now far apart.