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2012-01-29T21:32:12-05:00January 29th, 2012|Musings on life|

Chairlifts

When I was ten
I loved skiing

not for the swish of the planks on my feet
rocketing me down the hill
or the way my neck warmer
always smelled like hot chocolate.

I loved
the chairlifts

the death-defying openness of them
dangling legs
a thin metal bar
separating me from
plummeting

watching the line-up of people
edging forward like cars merging onto a bridge in rush hour
everyone masked
like burglars

who would I sit beside this time

the danger
no one talked about it
but I was obsessed
always ready to defend myself
scream and bite
push him off first
just in case this one preyed
on kids
who skied.

I was always a little disappointed
if he didn’t seem threatening
and would make up little lies instead
to fill the time.

I can’t remember why
but I often said I was a twin
not orphaned or poor
just that
the sensational fact
of belonging
to a mirror.