the pictureI saw you,I saw you there just now,A tear form in your eye as you glanced upon the page,That photograph so repugnant, So horrifying it can't be real. Of course I knew it wasn't true,But thought Could I be the only one to have the vile rush,Pressing to escape my esophagus. Am I the only one that can hear the terror that comes up from these pages,The cries and crumpled faces that will forever haunt me.But here I am gazing upon you,As you gaze upon that and I know,I know to the core of my heart that you feel it too I know you do,But just as I am reassured,You brush it away,Just like that, From
Purple tobogganThey leave bright eyed,Gloves dry,Pants tucked in,Boots tied. Their hats pulled down tightly,Bladders freshly drained.Their coats are zipped to their chins,Accompanied by their scarves,Sleds, held under arms,Or pulled by strings.Two round,Two flat,One large, purple toboggan. Boots thud in the muted snow,Excitement and dread thick in air,Air so wet when breathed through the nose,It burns like in the swimming pool,When your brother pushes your head under,and you are unprepared.On the return,Faces pink, hats tossed,Melted snow drips, from naked finger tips,Put in mouths to get the warmth back. Gloves