Greg Stidham
KOA
Like honeybees drawn to fields of yarrow,
they descend circling in their Airstreams,
Jayco's and Forest Rivers,
the pop-up tents, the pop star
motorhomes, rounding the perimeter,
homing in on the petals of their campsites.
They come from Indiana, Ohio
and Ontario. They are retirees
who limp to restrooms
on operated knees.
They are six-year olds
racing bikes and scooters,
screaming down paved paths.
A few are honeymooners,
their pulled blinds outlined
by dimmed inside lights.
Holding a Baby
Sometimes things seem
so simple, so certain,
like the still-warm body
of the infant girl
born with the fallible heart
held by her young aunt
when her parents couldn't.
When the aunt asked
“would you like to hold her?”
--so simple, so certain,
so obvious a choice:
take that body, hold it
like a living infant,
like my own perhaps,
and not like the child whose heart
I couldn't coax to continue.