Snow, & Poems

Poem for the day, which was inspired by Tom who is skiing and memories of Lindsey and Darby and growing up in the woods. In honor of the snow which 18 hours later is still REALLY coming down, & my deep great desire to go sledding with red cheeks and smiley open fun. With the exception of being 16, with Briana and I all punkrocked, waiting on Larry and Scott and Lindsey to get there and being so, soo sweetly stoned, this is definitely the best snow day I have ever known

HILLS

There were power lines where I grew up:
hills.

At the end of the street behind the cedar trees
and calf-level thickets of clover and thorns.

We went there in our shorts and short-sleeves
took the back-way around through the woods
down to where Gumbottom Creek bled out.
Brave days we would make what otherwise
was a winter climb.
The muscle movement of puberty leg flexors
and misery of sweat, the tripped over grass-clusters
and rotation of sky against top of hill-land and also
breath: in and out in and out, up and down.

I really don’t remember mosquitoes
puckering our arms & later, in the mildew spring

when the earth was wet
and the thicket mats flat
from the rails of our sleds

we would lay our blankets down, and the sun still felt
damp, and cold on our skin