I'm resting my head
On your chest
My hand on your shoulder
Your arm around me
Playing with my hair
Gently stroking it
Helping me fall asleep
Your other hand
Holding onto my arm
gently moving your thumb
Up and down
Your chin on my head
I can hear your heart beat
Your arms tightly round me
Holding me
Making me feel safe and happy
Genuinely happy
Even though it was the worst sleep
I've ever had
Because of the little space we had in the tent
It was one of the best sleeps
Just because you were there
You move and your cheek is pressed against mine
I can feel your breathe on my neck
You moved your hand into my sleeping bag
And pull my top
And gently rub my back
Because I'm almost in tears
With how sore my stomach is
I giggle quietly cause it tickles on my side
It starts to get cold
So I move closer to your chest and you hold me tighter
You're dreaming
A nightmare possibly
Sounds like your crying
My arm isn't on you anymore
You make a weird noise
And I pull you closer to me
And you seem to feel better
It's cute really
You felt better with my arm around you
Just like I did
Continue stroking my hair
As I fall gently asleep on your chest
Feeling the steady rhythm
Of your heart
And hearing your heavy breathing pattern
And you light airplane sounding snore
From you being sick
Slowly falling asleep
In each other's arms
Happy
And safe

When you go camping,
and the world lifts itself from your shoulders
and the problems back home seem silly and irrelevant
human life, and
what you may have been trying to achieve
in your leather black ergonomic chair
and your dark polished wood desk
seems silly and irrelevant
The world is here, in the wood-pecker’s tap-tap-taping in the trees
the checkered calculated lines of the water being pulled to shore by the wind,
viewed from above
like the birds that push themselves into the tide and float
back to shore then push themselves out again.
the world is here, 
forgotten by the city, and the construction worker’s crack-crack-crack of the hammer
the calculated system of traffic guided by flashing lights, turning signs and abrasive horns
from behind the wheel 
where the man sits in a satin black suit and smooth leather car seat
sipping at his morning coffee, purchased for $2.25 and cradled by spring-loaded cupholders,
until he reaches for the silver handle of his glass office door, and stops
looking down at his brown-leather shoes that cut into the rounded bone on the side of his ankle
and decides,
time to go camping

Morning.
The unrelenting chill of Minnesota,
slowly getting warmer
as the sun rises.
I see my mother’s uncomfortable smile
as my father breaks the peace and quiet
in an effort to capture the moment.

She prepares breakfast
to give them strength for the journey ahead,
both looking forward
to the day’s travels.

By car by canoe,
It does not matter.
What matters is the present;
sausage, eggs
and each other’s eager smile.

The freedom of camping,
the isolation from society
what a relaxing effect.
Having no reason to hurry
they savor the moment.

They have shown me the same moment,
taught me to enjoy the crisp cold,
taught me to drive and to paddle
and have taught me to love;
to love my family and to love my world.

-AM

Tentpole, stature tall and strong and
Firmly placed between the thin sheets
Members of the boy scouts, boy clan
Flames extinguished, his body heats

At dawn it rises, makes me wake
******* for the fire he gathers
Morning wood, embers of the stakes
Soon home; disapproving Fathers

Morning **** calls, but we're busy
Pack our bags, get all the work done
Juice of life makes me quite dizzy
Mem'ries of our weekend of fun

I'll be dish and spoon to your spoon
Spend nights together o'er the moon

Thank You Mr. Barstow
For your beautifully narrated
Video of family camping

During the summers from 1957 to 1961
The five-member Barstow family
Of Wethersfield,  Connecticut,
Set out to visit all 48
Of the then United States of America
On a series of month-long camping trips

They made sure
To go swimming in each of the Great Lakes

The family members
Positioned their bodies
So they would
Create the first letter
Of each lake

All the lakes looked so similar
They came up with this idea as a way to know
Which lake they were pictured in

Priceless

The son rolls up the back window
Of the station wagon

It reads, "Y'all Come
Sightseeing South
Summer - 1959

It is great to see an American family
Having so much fun

May God continue to bless the Barstow family

i dreamt of you the other night and i cant say i've felt the same since
why were the bumble bees on the appalachian trail so furry and friendly? Maybe it was the fresh mountain air that turned them into fuzzy mutants. I swear i could feel them softly whispering calming pleasantries into my ear, like stop worrying you're going to fall off this mountain silly girl, that wont be the way you die.
a white spotted greyhound tagged behind our group on the trail for a solid thirty minutes, my heart ached for the loneliness and hopelessness it must've been feeling, depression cant only be limited to humans? i thought about that dog obsessively for a week straight while everyone else shooed it off easily. No living thing wants to die alone and that dog reminded me of that paralyzing fear i inhabit.
bare feet padded down the beaten dirt path, walking sticks and grime galore. smiles graced their content dirt streaked faces. this must be an early preview of what my heaven will appear as.
cows were dotted everywhere, in another life i hope to be apart of a cow herd on a mountain filled with dandelions. they aren't weak, they are assertive and docile, only a ***** if you mess with them.
i wish words could fathom the beauty in the orange that sunrise contained. rustling sleeping bags and soft sighs of sleep enveloped the tent in a hazy glow, chilled faces turned rouge from the bittersweet breeze. this moment awakened my resonating need for individuality, the feeling of standing alone amongst others who seem to be enduring each day in a sleepy zombie like state. Only surviving for the moment they can finally collapse into their homely, bundled sheets. I'm afraid of being like them.
where did i leave off on you, something about a dream?

I swam in the same water
Somebody died in
I guess the same is true
for most water
(I think).
The water we drink
has been used
drip after slow drip
to drive Someone
to the brink of insanity.
no doubt.
At one point
your warm, smooth, bathwater
was choppy,
salty, grave
to more than one
unlucky
sailor, pirate or slave.
The water is the same
perhaps arranged a
different way..
Know it is the same
deep, ambient killer.
Still we swim,
and still we bathe.


This water felt, looked,
I swear I thought it was pure.
A humble lake
quietly licking the salty shores
not looking for a life to take.
We fished those waters
earlier that day
hobbling in our canoe
and barely hanging on
but smiling.
I imagine he was like that, too.
Drunk from beer and the thrill
of midnight swimming.
Nobody, not even he
saw what was coming
until the lights came on:
flickering and then
too constant
red and blue and
I can only hope
that bright, blinding white.
Drunken fools know not
what is at stake.
We were forced awake
by little sister
frantic but relieved
it was not us
at the bottom of the lake.