inspired by joe's past poem
two poems by colin
i asked colin if i could post these two old poems of his. he said "no," but i'm pretty sure he meant "yes."
One short, snowy ridge,
Higher than the rest,
Sheltered so carefully
From unconcerned eyes,
So crystal clear and majestic
With its air of foreverness.
Two hundred meters from the summit,
On a knife-edge ridge,
The wind cuts around an outcropping
Shaking his balance, spinning him
Onto the steep face,
His arms windmilling, a mitt flies into the cold nothingness.
He jams his ice-axe into the crusted snow.
He is on lead. The summit is two hundred meters, more—
An hour—maybe two, away.
On the summit he takes off his remaining mitten
And smacks his hands together
In hopes of warming his frozen hand before it is too late.
It is too late. His hand shatters—
Pieces of flesh and bone and gristle and tendon
Explode into the void, then fall
And fall and fall—
And he hears the sound of one hand clapping.
Poetry by one trick pony
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Written on 2016-09-28 at 18:00
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