down the hill by Indigo Tempestai scrunch my face, punch tiny
fists into sleeves that endlessly balloon; mama stops me at the door with the boots i tried to shirk; more stuffing and im off with a baking pan. off into
precious white, toddling down an aisle of asphalt; im off with a shout, my mother and a baking pan behind. and i
rocket
down the white on a metal sheet, and i
scream my laughter back up the hill. mama,
its cold! and pick up, and dart up, and
down again, my face red enough to
melt the snow; and my mamas just
smiling,
watching me shriek and fall and rise
again; and i go down and down and down and
always down; trees and children and sleds
and lost mittens laugh as we collide and i never
will forget my mamas face when i
finally got to push
her down the hill on my baking pan 03/16/2004 Posted on 03/17/2004 Copyright © 2025 Indigo Tempesta
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