Mize & Kathy (excerpt)
When a boy, Mize's favorite
sled racing hill, he now at late 19
crouched in racing start at its
pumping up with deep breaths
set to challenge it this
body was buried.
Ice crusted, hard deep snow
under a billion aluminum stars,
skinny sickle moon,
feeling he's in a giant snow globe,
yells to the Heavens,
"THIS LAST RUN'S FOR YOU, DAD!"
Body slams prone against racer
his dad built for him when 10,
its waxed steel runners
dance over iced snow.
The ballet begins,
snow globe shaking ...
His dad collapsed packing hen eggs.
No warning. Heart just quit.
He was 61.
The egg man found him the next morning.
Mize and hired hands pick-axed
Whil's final earthly bed.
Startled eyes and sadness from the
nearby woods was felt by Mize and
one of the hands, sharing their
mutual feelings momentarily
looking at each other—All of it
in their eyes beyond the limits of
Even the few remaining visible
withered leaves seemed in
excerpt from Mize & Kathy. Copyright © James Humphrey Trust.