Campground

There is no need for a tent, anymore.

Haunt the entire house, if you want.

We’ve polished the floors, dusted the lintels,

Hung screens, trimmed the branches;

When the storms come at summer’s apex

Rain won’t touch the glass.

There is no need to air your sheets

Before you sleep in the slanted hammock

Moving as the light does, across the boards.

Perform, if you wish.

There is no one here who will fear

Or shut the doors you’ve opened

Or flinch at your touch

Or cry out as you waver

Between the here, the now, and afterward.

There is no need to, anymore.

So...the theoretical prompt for this was an image (of a window in a room with a wooden floor) and a suggestion to think about shelter in these times of sheltering in place. But...empty rooms and bright windows give me that floaty feeling, the sense that I'd rather be in a pool, drifting. And being restricted to the house makes me feel twelve. Wooden floors make me think of camping...and what are the best type of stories for camp? Ghost stories. Trust me. Now...perhaps s'mores? Popcorn? A giant pot of Campfire Stew? A chill just as the nape of your neck...?