I ski for them—the nurses
and doctors who save women
like me from back alley butchers
and the ungainly pace
of ignorance
each slog
uphill on skinny boards a penance
for the grudge that grew along
with the human in my belly,|
who owes his life to a law
not yet lifted.
Not that he should be grateful
or anything—I respect that he
has embraced his god given right
to come out swinging.
More
has been lost than the better
part of a year gestating, silly
girl.
Brilliant day, clear air so brisk
it stings the blue-white field
of my gaze—step
and glide, step and glide.
_____
Karen Hildebrand is the author of Crossing Pleasure Avenue (Indolent Books, 2018). Her poetry has appeared in many journals and was adapted for a play produced in NYC (2013). She plans to graduate from the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers in January 2022. She lives in Brooklyn.
_____
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