Gregory Leonelli

The Notch

I sit upon the crooked bench
Atop a winding trail
My numb frozen fingers groping
For the straps at my feet
Standing upright, my legs feel trapped
I wiggle my cold feet
Back and forth to begin sliding
As I near the entrance
Of the trail, gravity pulls me
Speeding downhill, cold bites my face
The trapped feeling leaves my legs
The trail makes a white, curvy line
Hits a vertical drop
Look, to the left!  A cut-through path
Banking sharp-don’t miss it,
I enter eyes wide, drifting through
The mounds of ungroomed snow
Navigating trees, fighting hard
The exit approaches
I see a drop, my board plunges
Off the ledge, I’m flying
Snow flies, I glide toward the landing
One edge hits, other edge hits
Slowing down, life’s back to normal
It’s over, just for now


Copyright 2002-2006 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2006 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.