|
|
| ::: |
|
|
| |
| SKIING ON THE LAST DAY OF SNOW
|
|
| |
The swish swish of cross country skis
on melting snow
is the sound of our bones
being cleansed. I ski
like a tai chi shadow, slow and long.
Jake is behind me. His first time on skis,
and he walk-skis in fear of falling.
He's balancing on a mountain peak,
poles grip the uncertainty of sky.
A full hour to do a lazy loop
around the block of trees in the orchard,
what should only take five minutes.
I wait, look back, creep ahead,
wait again. We ski between some trees
where the snow hasn't melted. Thick dunes
ribboned by sunshine and shadows.
Here Jake stops to take a leak: everything comes off
poles, gloves, skis. Hands them to me.
Then, his coat open, snow pants down,
he goes against a tree. I watch.
A simple arc, a mountain stream of hot water
flows out clear, catches
a jewel of sunlight, burns
into the snow, staining out small markings:
Jake was here. Temporarily.
Who would know,
the life of him absorbed deep down.
|
from new poems
TBD
2009
Copyright © Jim Slominski
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
