Sweat beads down
Eyes squint to see
The pole too high
For this Olympian wannabe.
Why was the crossbar so damn high?
Even the professionals
And the pole was split.
Up in the sun the crossbar resides
To knock down the Olympian
With who it collides.
The crack of bones
On the ground below
The snap of a pole
The Olympian’s turn was thrown.
He looked up
To see the crossbar.
With feet below,
And the sun blocked out
By a woman
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What if I quit? : A tribute to Mount Saint Helens
It starts with a memory
of trees in a haze.
Black and white and drizzling that day.
Playing and skipping
with Jesse himself.
Two kids laughing among everything else.
Oh how I’d begged,
and pleaded to go.
Ten years in the making was this very show.
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10,000 feet and I’m all high strung.
10,000 feet and my muscles are wrung.
High above all else,
Here where the snow never melts.
An even greater achievement than last time,
To make this hard a climb.
Twice I’ve made it with determined intent,
If I am not to go back I think I’m content.
Massive mountains are now mini,
And round trees are truly skinny.
Up here where the air is thin,
And too long a break turns your limbs to tin.
Not quite at my mountain’s top which stands unreachable,
Yet I feel welcome as one of her people.
“Will this satisfy the little girl who wanted to go to the top?”
My feeling of pride knows not where to stop.
For I am 10,000 feet from where you look up.
10,000 feet and blessed with this close up.