Trails
these skis look like hell,
old, scraped and gouged
but still they carry me
down this dark white trail
I've learned to keep myself upright
stumbles earlier almost forgotten
jerks who pulled or pushed me over,
fading/falling behind me
its cold now, snow fills the air
as I turn a corner, trees inches away
my poor and dirty clothes
still sufficient to keep me warm
and there she is, coming from
a different trail, forming up
to my left her eyes flickering at me
as mine lock on her
and she is just perfect. Easy
grace in opposition to my brute force
beautiful outfit, new skis
and a ready confident smile.
She yells, 'hi!' and I say 'sup?!'
as the trail turns, our speeds matched
we start turning, towards and away,
an impromptu dance, snow filling the air
the wind and hiss our only music
faster now as the trail drops away
and for one perfect moment, we
both catch air together
flying now
turning a tight corner, I look over
and find her .
.
.
gone.
Reflex viciously kicks out my skis
and I come to a snow-cloud stop.
eyes spinning everywhere, thinking
where are you?
A separate turning, a different trail?
She's nowhere I can see, nowhere I can
help
not with me anymore.
and my skis are old, my clothes dirty
but the person I was uphill,
is no longer here.
don't feel like skiing anymore.
Copyright © Chris Fortin | Year Posted 2015
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