Monday, February 15, 2016

Fifty

High on the slopes of Shasta
her sweat turned to steam in the lodge
and she purified her flesh with glacial melt
and her chest was pierced with winter birdsong
and when she emerged reborn she made her way
back north, speeding like the shadow of a falcon
up the Five. Sleet pricked the windshield
and a mile from the cul-de-sac where she lived
her car skidded into the frozen shoulder
Every surface was sheathed in ice
so she crawled the rest of the way
on her hands and knees
No scarf, no gloves, 
jeans with holes in the knees
Wind whipping her shawl behind her
The she-wolf, the tigress,
teeth bared in a fierce grin,
tendons in her neck straining,
heart screaming
as she left her forties behind
and raced on all fours
ravenous and wild-eyed
into the new decade

for Jo 

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