Trance

There's a kind of trance
you go into while camping
where nothing matters
except the leaf chain that you're weaving
and the mud around your feet
and your sister
next to you
making mud pies
But nothing else matters
not why your friend
hasn't texted you back
not the thing that happened
a little over two weeks ago
that you're still trying not to remember
Not even really
the fact that
you almost lost
your floodle
and almost polluted the lake
Nothing else matters
Just your leaf chain
and the extra muddy mud