Poetry by Russell Rowland
Young campers, school resumes!
A photo online shows you roasting hotdogs
on sticks over a campfire.
You’re only ten years old in this world once.
You may never roast hotdogs
over an open fire again—but will remember
that sizzle and first bite many times,
as when faced with a surprise quiz on fractions.
You’re blossoming now,
like asters, mums, and ubiquitous goldenrod.
In a way, you’re annuals, in a way perennials.
In a way, you’re springtime
in autumn. We who love you are just autumn.
Say there was an owl overnight
at the campground, asking who cooks for you,
who cooks for you-all.
If you were awake, you could have answered
the owl: We roast hotdogs now—
we’re learning to cook for ourselves, thank you.
Russell Rowland’s work appears in Except for Love: New England Poets Inspired by Donald Hall (Encircle Publications), and Covid Spring, Vol. 2 (Hobblebush Books). His own poetry books, Wooden Nutmegs and Magnificat, are available from Encircle Publications. He is a trail maintainer for the Lakes Region (NH) Conservation Trust.
