Avalanche
Rachel Glass
The door screams opens like a train whistle,
The sound loud and shrill and long
Someone should find the WD-40 and make haste
It’s not the annoyance of the sound, but a reminder
That things may be unsettled
Like instability deep in the snowpack
Waiting for the slash of a skier
To break the surface into a tidal wave
I used to be afraid I’d die in an avalanche
Not connecting the dots
If you don’t go into avalanche terrain, you can’t die there
Yet, somehow, tracing the lines in the letters of the names of all those friends
that went under feels the same
Maybe I have already died a thousand times
By saying their names
Like the Buddhist monk I met said
The teeth on the zipper of his jacket as crooked
As the teeth in his mouth
That this is but one life of many
Death is the only constant
Maybe, in this quest to live as close to the edge as possible
I am winding around the corner too quickly
Blinded by the sun against perfect, hexagonal crystals of brilliant white snow
Speeding towards an infinite death of my own
Licton Springs Review 2015 