“Fires have their place, too. A fire can warm you, cook your food, and dry your clothes. Bright flames can lift your spirits on a rainy morning. At night, glowing embers can stir your imagination.” – The Boy Scout Handbook, Page 248, 11th Edition, Third Printing
It’s quiet now,
Somehow between sunset—
and now,
All us boys have run out of things to say.
All that’s left is the circle of leaders,
You can hear them mumbling softly,
softly into the fire.
Long shadows wavering behind.
Someone laughs to themselves at a joke he told in his head,
Side-eyes the female doctor sitting next to him,
And thinks better of telling it.
I heard it years and years later,
Told by a leather-skinned tractor driver,
Around his spittin’ tobacco.
Between staring up our openly gay co-worker,
“They don’t start that way you know,
Lesbians”
And other muddy pearls of his life.
Someone notices the silence,
And stirs the fire a little,
A log breaks and little embers fly through the air.
Everyone’s eyes follow them up,
And lingers a moment on the stars through the tree-tops.
