Old Christmas lights hang
from trees in the backyard.
Lightning bugs prick
bright holes in the night air.
We are six or seven sitting
around an outdoor table.
Empty plates. Full bellies.
Long talking in the dark.
This is how tribes are born.
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2 comments:
This entry brought back memories of a certain lake house in Hot Springs and all the family, most passed on, enjoying companionship on a summer's eve.
RT:
Kind of makes you miss Arkansas, doesn't it.
H. K.
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