9/30

Scout trip, 1994

In the woods, all things are suddenly true. 

The sun wakes you, and outside

the blazes is lost. Water is water.

The warnings that held my interest

in science class are true here:

the twin stripes that make each needle

of hemlock a divided highway, or an ancient hiss.

Paralytic yellow and ghillie-suit green

and all unchosen colors are true.

The world we have defeated by leaving

cannot be gentle nor unkind.

So when I whittled a strong gash

into the first joint of my thumb

(making myself a clumsy spear

for marshmallows), all I did was bleed,

and put my hand in the fire to stop it.

The sun already set in those woods

only six miles from my parents' house,

I had no world at which to swear

blue oaths or argue justice. It left

no scar.