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Scraps torn
from a grocery bag
and twigs the trees tossed
down around the outhouse
kick flames out the stovetop.
I drop in
a brick of wood --
jump back from sparks that snap at my eyes --
and clank the iron plates
into place.
The pines peacefully
sniff the smoke of their dead
rising from our chimney.
The fire slowly nudges
the mountain's cold morning
through gaps in the walls.
I slip back to the sleeping bag
and you.
From Wedging Oaks Into Acorns (Uzzano Press).
Used here with the author's permission.
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David Henson is the author of two chapbooks and his award-winning work has appeared in a variety of online and print journals. In addition to writing, David enjoys playing classical and boogie woogie piano. David and his wife have lived in Belgium and Hong Kong over the years, but now live in Illinois, where they enjoy walking with their dog. Learn more about David at http://writings217.wordpress.com.
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Jancan:
Very enjoyable piece--love the lines personifying pines! Janice
Posted 10/17/2016 04:13 PM
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Jo:
I can smell those pines, and the warmth they give off as well. I'd snuggle back to the sleeping bag as well.
Thank you, David.
Posted 10/17/2016 04:12 PM
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Janet Leahy:
Can feel the cold and the warmth in this poem. Love the peaceful pines. Thanks David
Posted 10/17/2016 09:29 AM
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Michael:
Let's go camping!
Love this.
Thank you.
Posted 10/17/2016 07:42 AM
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blueskies:
Toasty & delightful! Thanks, David.
Posted 10/17/2016 07:16 AM
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Linda Anger:
This is lovely in so many ways. I particularly love "..and twigs the trees tossed down..."
Posted 10/17/2016 06:40 AM
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