Michelle S.


A bitter breeze as cold as ocean water,
Somehow the chill gets through my coat and gloves.
I glance over the edge of the ski slope,
The snow as white as newborn baby doves.

The brightly colored, bulky jackets shrink
In size; as they make their way down the slope,
My skis tilt forward and begin to run,
Now: the only thing I have with me is hope.

No one can stop me as I speed downhill,
First left, then right, and back and forth again.
I’m dodging all the children in their lessons,
Too fast to see how many… could be ten?

Slowly approaching the end of the slope,
Enjoying the last bit of my short journey,
I squint into the distance at the lodge.
If only this would last eternity.

My love for skiing is everlasting,
The snow sprays up into the clear blue sky.
Yet I take the worry out of my mind,
Back in the lift line: I’m ready to fly.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.