Winter Survival

Originally published in BLUELINE COLLEGE EDITION: A LITERARY MAGAZINE DEDICATED TO THE SPIRIT OF THE ADIRONDACKS (SUNY Potsdam) in 2014.

I.

White water dances with rock life.
Spider-sized stones sit
at the bottom of the stream,
little pebbles setting the foundation
for the movement of the white water.

Signs are set on the trees of the trail,
the trail laying separate from the rapids.
Signs on the trees of the trail state:
entering the water is as deadly as a
wintertime flower garden.

Signs are set on the trees of the trail, but
my curious foot wants to lay a print
on the fragile ice.

So I dance with white water.
The movement of the whiteness –
I had never seen so much turbulence –
continues me down, down stream.

There is strength about this water,
about this trail; a natural fortitude
that extends through to me.

I flail and try not to choke
on the stream.

I am frozen.

II.

White water dances with rock life,
and stunningly enough, the white water
slows down her movement
when she sees me. She is
slowing down.
Slowing
down.

I dance with and cling onto larger geology,
larger than a pebble, larger than me,
pulling my body toward the
snow-bedded, white ground,
removing myself from the white water.

There is strength about this water,/
about this trail, that brought my body
to an emergency department.
Hypothermia, they said.

But there is strength about this water,
about this trail, that connected my soul,
my pebble-sized being, to a larger plan,
a larger force.

My fellow travelers fit their
clothing upon my back
once I appeared,
and

I am alive.
I am winter survival.