This blog is for all who desire to create with words and images.
You are encouraged to participate in any way that is meaningful to you.

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All prompts beneath the photos are only suggestions.
You are free to use the photo to be inspired to write any way you desire.
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you may offer your writing to any prompt anytime.
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Write and you are a writer.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Skiing

Photo by Rachel Cotterill
More of her photos can be found on her
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Suggested prompt...
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Write today and include skiing or snowboarding in your verse or prose.



______________________________

Skiing

She promised we’d have fun.
My best friend Olivia,
the child model with the perfect smile
and hair that flipped
perfectly over her shoulder.
She invited me on a ski trip.
She said we’d love the snow,
and I’d be as good as her.

I was thirteen years old
with braces: yellow, pink and green
elastics on metal, restraining
my adolescent buck teeth.
My mother dressed me in
my step sister’s decade-old
plum-purple snow suit.
It swished and wooshed
between my thighs,
cutting circulation off at elastic
boundaries at my ankles and wrists.

Our first ride down:
“Bunny Slope.”
Not enough for me.
Next I attempted a steeper incline:
a plumb drop towards
cabins below,
a maze of rocks and trees.
Snow plow failed,
skiis fell sliding down the hill.
There, on the ice, my kneecap popped
out of the socket—
it was an abnormal shape—
that boney sphere sitting asymmetrical
under thin blue skin.

I knew Olivia wouldn’t climb uphill
to find me.
The humiliating part was
calling out for help,
between gulps of snot and saliva:
realizing I never would be Olivia.

~ Kristin Dombrowski




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8 comments:

Sarah said...

How great is water!?

You can ski on it even when it's frozen. Instead of kicking up waves, you kick up clouds of snow. Instead of bikini babes, you have snow bunnies. And instead of sun burns you get snow burns. It's fantastic. The same thrill, year round.

Remember your shades.
Water is damn reflective as a crystal.

Kristin Dombrowski said...

Skiing

She promised we’d have fun.
My best friend Olivia,
the child model with the perfect smile
and hair that flipped
perfectly over her shoulder.
She invited me on a ski trip.
She said we’d love the snow,
and I’d be as good as her.

I was thirteen years old
with braces: yellow, pink and green
elastics on metal, restraining
my adolescent buck teeth.
My mother dressed me in
my step sister’s decade-old
plum-purple snow suit.
It swished and wooshed
between my thighs,
cutting circulation off at elastic
boundaries at my ankles and wrists.

Our first ride down:
“Bunny Slope.”
Not enough for me.
Next I attempted a steeper incline:
a plumb drop towards
cabins below,
a maze of rocks and trees.
Snow plow failed,
skiis fell sliding down the hill.
There, on the ice, my kneecap popped
out of the socket—
it was an abnormal shape—
that boney sphere sitting asymmetrical
under thin blue skin.

I knew Olivia wouldn’t climb uphill
to find me.
The humiliating part was
calling out for help,
between gulps of snot and saliva:
realizing I never would be Olivia.

Marc said...

I think I'm going much too fast;
I knew I'd end up in a cast.
I'd cry but my eyes are icy;
This crash landing will be quite pricey.

Who knew flight would be so scary?
I'm going to kill Aunt Mary
For taking me down this death trap;
Assuming my neck don't snap...

Marianna said...

In the north-eastern part of a country, whose name is linked with the three Ss of fun and laughter (summer, sun, sea) there is a place where people can go to enjoy a different S. The mountain is called Falakro (bald). The snow is thick, clear and eager to justify its home's name. However for me this mountain will never be the same...for all I now the name is Odet and her spirit lives there ever since that day. The day the cableway let you go and put you there among the snow...forever white, forever pure.

(For Odetty)

Sacha van Straten said...

The biting ice
Makes no sound
As boot clad feet slip
On the downhill hurtling,
Catching the senses unaware.

Powder and pine blur into motion,
Freezing the air that burns at the lung,
Squeezing the blood into vessels contracting,
Pushing and pulling in every direction,
Descending through valleys
Untouched by the mighty,
Zipping past mountains that
Hold all their secrets,
Revelling fully
In freedom of motion,
The levelling plateau,
The long run is done.

Sacha van Straten said...

P.S. Forgot to add that I've put a visual version of the poem online @ http://snipurl.com/amebs

S

Anonymous said...

Rather than ride up the lift and ski downhill,
I wonder if one can ride up and down the lift at will? What a thrill that would be, with no fear of surgery!

Simply Heather said...

He has all of his gear ready to go
almost tasting the air's chill
before even attempting the outing

Anticipation fills him up
as he approaches the door
and he can feel the adventure waiting ahead

The first step onto the snow crunches icey trembles into his body
and he pushes himself onward

Just a little too fast
he lands abruptly onto his bottom
and looks up to the face above him

"Are you alright, son?"
With a tear in his eye
he nods his head and gets up

Standing firmly on the snow
he takes a deep breathe
and trudges onward
making it to his goal

He's seen the big guys do it on tv
looking so easy to him
wanting to do the same, he tries

The sunlight is fading away
as they pack the gear into the car
"Did you have fun, son?"
with a smile on his face, he nods

"Daddy, can we do it again tomorrow?"