Mt. Moosilauke Overnight
Mount Moosilauke OvernightYou wanted to go, daughter, you were
only thirteen, it was fifteen below.
Snow was plowed to eye level
where we parked the car, South Peak
white on the sky. You wore
pedestrian red hat, gaiters,
the orange pack, and those
ridiculous Mouse Boots. Your mouth
curved up like the snowshoe tips.Snow settled tight. The coal
of sun burned down to hard
cold. Night cracked the tent walls
frosted with our breath. As we slept
our body shapes molded
in ice beneath our mats.Morning fire smoked the peak. I could
barely see your hair inside
the balaclava hat wound with a scarf.
Leading on the trail, for fun you bent
and gazed at me between your legs,
a perfect smile turned upside down.
Your butterflies on drifted trails,
brought out the sun through spruce.
I remember most those trees
and on the ridge the antlered scrub.I paused to photograph your black speck
on top, then cold wind blew us down
to sunset over the road.
My fingertips numb since by cold
remind me: the snow-patched mountain,
your lashes, your straight blue eyes.
Parker Towle
From "Our Places" (1998)
