Beth Camp Historical Fiction

Friday, April 03, 2015

C is for Close

I do like to sleep in a tent,
the night air fresh and sometimes cold,
full of sounds not easily dismissed,
the crack of a twig,
the rustle of some small animal foraging,
once or twice, truly a bear passed nearby,
its heavy tread easily fearsome,
and in the morning, the light
brings night mysteries clear, 
the outline of paw prints,
the routine of breakfast,
the comfort of hot tea.
Once we camped near a rock wall of petroglyphs,
those ancient marks a reminder
of those who long ago slept in that place,
high in the mountains.
Once we walked along the Street of the Tentmakers
in Cairo, where teen-aged boys
sat in lotus position in tiny open-air shops
to sew intricate applique panels
for wedding tents and tourists, 
in centuries past, they sewed for caravans 
travelling east on the Silk Road.
Keep those memories close
for that day when loved ones leave us,
and we face the long night,
as we all do, alone.

For all of April, I hope to celebrate with a month of poems for the Blogging from A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo, both blog hops in honor of National Poetry Month. 

Poetry has always been a scribble here and there, between 'real' writing. I read somewhere that writers write to experience life twice -- once in the moment, and once in reflection. 

So, join in! Check out the links to see what others have written. Write a poem. Share a memory with someone close. 

Here we visit a street stall,
one of many lining the Street of the Tentmakers
in the heart of Old Cairo.

An open air butcher in Old Cairo. Notice the large red tent hanging behind the butcher, all applique, all hand made.

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