i. a memory

the restlessness of a night tied into my hair, written into my eyes. peeking rain clouds seep into my skin, and i wrestle out of a tent. the air is cold. i find myself alone. so i gather sticks, the crunch under my feet even with careful precision. 

i build a tent of my own under the metal rack into the coals. there is no one to watch whether i succeed or fail, so i am content with struggling on my own. i blow slow and long, beckoning the flames to begin.

he awakens, and i glance up to see a tired, wild-haired face walking by. we murmur our deep good mornings. he walks off. another face emerges from his tent behind him not more than a minute later. normally early birds, but today is a late day for us all. the last day. good mornings again, but he leaves. i laugh to myself because usually i am the one watching their strong hands build this fire, but today it is me, and i feel kind of small.

but the smoke billowing from the small tepee i built is promising, and not much longer later, a flame starts up. before the boys are even back. i smile to the grey sky. Someone up there loves a small girl. 

x\