Saturday, December 3, 2011

Scars on home hill with a full scoop


Some scars point to character
I know I cherish mine.
The crease on my noggin
Plowed by a rock on the hill,
Cut furrows like a tine.

Still present after the years
And inscribed in my head
Written in the memory
Forever imprint
Cut deeper ‘til dead.

On a snow-covered slope,
Eight inches new snow
Scoop shovel sled
Three boys,
one riding, two tow

Fly down the rocky slope
At the launch, the tow stops
Careful near the bitter end
Watch out, dudes!
At the bottom, sharp rocks.

The jagged stones loom large
Unyielding, not forgiving
No swerve, reroute or stop
Crash landing sandstone
I’m lucky to be living

But on a cold day when flakes fall
I think of the home hill,
The rip 'cross my skull
The life had its dangers
There’s blood in the snow,
But times in the scoop shovel — full.
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