Smoking Sage

Sage smoking, the warm smell
rising into the air…

Wait, we aren’t there yet.

First, we jump in
the creek
and bob along until we get to a certain
spot on the bank.

Good thing we started a fire
because it was probably
midnight, and my hands
were turning blue.

We sit in silence
but break it with breaths of memories,
ones that will stay with us forever.

Now, we bring out the sage, I think.
It starts by surrounding
the person next to you
in good energy and
cleansing them of anything toxic;
we go in a circle.

I’m pretty sure she’s crying.
or maybe that’s me.
maybe it’s all of us.
A bunch of kids,
with electricity dancing
along our spines,
sharing pieces of…
our lives.

Something about this bond,
something about this place,

You couldn’t replicate it.
You don’t want to try,
because it wouldn’t be just right.

You need the chiming bell
and the sweet potato biscuits
and songs sung
that you haven’t heard in a year,
but perfectly.

You need those people
with hearts open to
well, everyone.

Sage smoking, the warm smell
rising into the air…

Wait, that was one night,
a lifetime ago.
One night,
one that left the feeling of rocks on my feet
and the rush of jumping off of mini-cliffs
and, well,
the energy of smoking sage.