When We Sold the Tent by Rhina P. Espaillat

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When we sold the tent
we threw in the Grand Canyon
with its shawl of pines,
lap full of cones and chipmunks
and crooked seams of river.

We let them have the
parched white moonscapes of Utah,
and Colorado's
magnificat of flowers
sunbursting hill after hill.

Long gentle stretches
of Wyoming, rain outside
some sad Idaho
town where the children, giddy
with strange places, clowned all night.

Eyes like small veiled moons
circling our single light, sleek
shadows with pawprints,
all went with the outfit; and
youth, a river of campfires.

Comments

  1. LydiaSeptember 4, 2008 at 1:17 AM

    Love this poem. And the car, o, the car...my ex-husband and I had a real "woodie" like this back in 1975, only it was yellow. What a gem it was (the marriage was not!).

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousSeptember 4, 2008 at 1:46 PM

    we're campers and so i relate to this...

    ReplyDelete

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