MAGPIE/ Prompt #50

photo/ willow/ magpie tales

DOWNHILL/ This Way

My trail is empty again.

I take it and dream my way down,

skiing new powder,

going past a few tracks

that cut the hill

on the traverse.

I whisper a caution

now and then

to shadows rushing past me.

I fall and slide against a tree.

The snow goes up my nose

like a line of cocaine.

I sit there and sneeze

little ice balls,

fearing the crack I hear

to be my bones.

But a twig suffers the break.

I rise once more,

lean into the wind,

pretend my increasing speed

is what I wish,

and not the pull of gravity.

I appeal to good fortune;

please, don't send me to oblivion.

                                                  

@copyright/all rights reserved/2011

Thanks to Tess Kincaid for giving me the opportunity to resurrect a poem I had published in 2008.  It's just a bit revised, something I should do more often...and hope for the best!

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