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Losing My Muse on the Back Side of Plattekill Ski Area

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Passages, #38

Three walls of snow

intimidate

us as we clutch

the chairlift bar.

 

Filling out a line

with fixed syllables

calms my psyche

with poetic chores.

 

We hop off left

and slither down

to a roped off

out-of-bounds trail.

 

To rhyme, or not?

To search for a place

to turn and grip

upcoming lines.

 

Nervous skiers,

intermediates,

wrench skis around

desperate to scrape off

speed. Tails break free

uncontrollable

slides and groin-tweaking

recoveries.

You have to let go–

let the turn happen.

 

I don’t find the thought;

the thought finds me.

As I scribble,

the words bubble up

and scan themselves.

 

There is no one

here has been no

one here just prints

of deer, rabbits,

wild turkey flocks.

“Just prints,” indeed!

We visit here

errant skiers.

 

I wander off

topic, my lines

slide away, my form

gets clogged. I restart

and force the flow.

I offend my muse.

She’s not even “mine.”

 

We’re stuck real good!

Four-foot snow banks

submerge our skis.

The upslope winds

pile up snow drifts

and erase our tracks.

 

Step away, put down

the pen, don’t put down

yourself, put down

your thoughts, when she

returns to put down

your doubts. Put down

the dough in a place

warm enough to let it rise,

well covered, so no

critiques deflate

the bubbling mass

and put you down.

 

A secret thought.

There’s no one here

to rescue us

from something bad.

No ski patrol comes

on this back side.

Our tracks, our clues,

now filling in

with driving snow.

What’s adventure?

Something novel

that can kill you.

 

My eraser

leaves no traces

of unruly

words, favorite

phrases, dying

thoughts smudged away.

 

Swish, sift, sigh, sounds

of first turns. Trees

to right filter

wind revealing

one snowboard track

heading through trees

down a summer

mountain bike trail.

 

I am too serious.

I have ignored my child.

I have refused to play.

My muse crouches

and hides, afraid.

If she angers,

she may avenge

and transform me

into a snowdrift.

She can do it.

She is not for hire.

She must be attended to

as she plays her lyre.

 

Come, my Lovely One,

come play your tune

as we ski down

Powder Puff to lodge

and warmth and tea

and await your return

in whatever guise

you decide to be.

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