Camping Trip

By Alen Hamza

The needle has lost its compass,

Brother has seen the bear,

Father is turning back.

But the tent is new!

Mother says,

I want to use it.

The look she throws Father

is a beggar's look only at first.

We camp three nights.

I save ants from frozen morning

ground, Brother kills them

leading up to lunch.

Father pulls out yin and yang,

Mother sends him to a field of manure.

You and your Eastern philosophizing, she says

and cooks beans to upset father's stomach.

I laugh uneasily: beans don't agree with me.

But I'm young and it's too early to admit

to a failing like that—a Balkan child

unable to digest beans.

Under an oak Brother pins me,

hovers above me.

Spit hands from his mouth.

It grows thin and long as it moves

to kiss me.

I'm not afraid of you, ant killer!

Mother leaves the tent at midnight,

clearing the air in front of her.

Father dreams.

Brother snores.

I count the stars that glue themselves

to the nylon roof.

Copyright Credit: Alen Hamza, "Camping Trip" from Twice There Was a Country. Copyright © 2020 by Alen Hamza. Reprinted by permission of Cleveland State University Press Poetry Center.

Source: Twice There Was a Country (Cleveland State University Press, 2020)