MARSHMALLOWS

Strange, how you sometimes forget
Some of the best things of your childhood.
The other day the kids and I went to Roan Mountain.
We cooked hamburgers over a wood fire.

Mrs Holtzclaw brought some marshmallows
And cut us each a stick from a cherry tree.
I’d forgotten how marshmallows react to a fire!

First they begin to turn brown and swell.
Then they quickly ignite and flame.
How can something burnt so black and crispy

Taste so good?

At first I thought
I’ll cook just one for the kids.
Then I ate it.
Next thing I knew I was burning another one,
Eating it, then another and another.

How soon we forget the sounds
Of crickets at night,
Of a fire crackling and popping,
Of wind sighing in the trees.

The laughter of children teasing one another.
And the taste of marshmallows
Crispy,
Yet sticky,
And black.
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