White boots stumble across rough ice
to the centre. River's clay banks equidistant.
Hear waxwing's whistle from leafless maple,
a dog-walker's footsteps creak on packed snow.
Push off now: blades' rough hiss, prickle of cold air
on cheeks. A small wind, white noise in the ears.
Push, glide. Rhythm's easier now.
In morning's brilliance, the body
becomes a solar cell. Push, glide.
Under bridge, past library, around the point.
Consider the wind's direction, think of the time.
Consider going around the next curve,
under the next bridge.
See how long it takes
until feet in white boots
begin to stumble again.
2 comments:
Great use of sound in this Joanne! I really felt like I was slugging through the trail. I found the repetition worked at creating some movement, esp. the pushing motion though I wondered if longer lines might also give you some added push in the last stanza.
Very wintry feel. I especially liked:
"White laces bow-tied,
stumble across rough ice
to the centre. River's clay banks equidistant.
Waxwing's whistle from leafless maple,
a dog-walker's footsteps creak on packed snow."
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