a long-awaited snowy run paints your town in blinding light,
both dangerous and dirty, but still somehow serene.
the winter plays tricks on your sensibilities.
as you slide through traffic lights and dodge drippy gutters,
you think of where the week’s legs will take you:
up 30,000 feet, then down again, to sisters, real and scar-pocked.
to a kick-off, a challenge, a new nametag scripted,
and you hope, at most, to be yourself.
to be true to the still and small and not swept away by the other.
you pack your favorite boots and a trusty slip,
let nothing disingenuous sneak its way aboard.