By Alessandra DeAngelis
For years when I was younger
I spent two weeks a summer at a sleepover camp.
At the end of each session,
there was this huge bonfire
where all the campers and counselors gathered
to share inside jokes and memories.
The camp director always ended it with a ghost story and
this song he played on his acoustic guitar.
He was a rough man, with dark grey hair and a belly.
His voice sounded like stepping on a pebble beach.
The ghost story was never too scary but
the song always made me endlessly happy
and immeasurably sad.
“Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time passing.
Where have all the flowers gone?
Long time ago.”
I didn’t understand back when I was 12
why that song made me cry.
After he stopped singing I always noticed
how loud the cicadas were.