We had to write a poem at our training today and I sort of liked mine. It was based on the structure of a poem by Mary Oliver called The Summer Day.
The Suicide Run
Who brought the snow?
Who laid it gently - an invitation?
Who made the hills?
This hill - I mean
The one who beckons my father,
The one who calls to us to test our luck, sleds in hand,
Who is waiting with trees like hair,
Who is gaping, mouth open under walls.
Now she smiles, sunlight illuminating the pores and rocks of her complexion.
Now she calls again and my dad slides away - down.
I don't know what other families are like.
I do know how to follow him, how to wait for his magic,
How to be awed and surprised, how to expect wonder and fear and wonder again,
Which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything change and too soon?
Tell me what is it that you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
