THE WORLD
In skis,
My feet are like
The metal tines
Of a two-pronged
Fork
Gliding through
The flour-snow
Of an Earth-baked mountain
Of a slope
Sprayed and
Splayed
With sleet.
In skis,
My feet
Wobble.
I follow a
Trail,
A winding ladder
Without rungs that
Sprawls from my father’s
Heels.
In skis,
My feet are my eyes,
For faces are nothing
When wrapped in cloth and cold,
And my ears
Hear
Only
White,
As if I were in the belly of a ghost.
—from 2018 Rattle Young Poets Anthology
__________
Why do you like to write poetry?
Tobi-Hope Park: “I want to change the world. It doesn’t have to be big. Maybe I make someone think or feel in a different way. Maybe I change someone’s perception of the world just a little bit. Or maybe I make someone happy. To me, any small thing, any small adjustment, can be change.”
