With the season having officially arrived here in Wyoming, here’s another winter poem, this one from my collection, How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver. It’s about my disastrous attempt of a winter sport that most of my family enjoyed.
Although it reads like poetry, it looks like prose. This is what’s considered a prose poem. You can click the Play button below the poem to hear me read it. Enjoy, and happy winter.
On a cold, cloudy day, we strap on our skis, boots, head up the trail. I inch along, sure I’ll fall at any minute, as my skis slide through the packed snow. “Left foot right pole right foot left pole. See if you can go faster,” Dad says. I prefer to keep my slow, plodding pace.
At the top of the hill, we retrace our steps. My feet slide out from under me. I land flat on my back. “Smile,” says my brother, as he holds the camera.
“Stick that camera where the sun won’t shine,” I want to tell him.
“You’re not falling right. You could get hurt,” he says. I remove the skis, walk the rest of the day.