King of the Mountain
by Miriam Pederson

 
Snow seeps up our sleeves,
down our boots,
stings wrists and ankles
into action.

The king, mittens caked in ice,
face a crinkled cabbage,
menaces with imperious shouts,
his galoshes flailing
like desperate fish
as he ousts us one by one
from his summit.

He has only to skip a beat,
slip on the hardened skin of snow,
and a new power will emerge,
sure as a red scarf
abandoned on the hedge—
bold rag of winter,
bright flag of spring.

Miriam Pederson lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan where she is a Professor of English at Aquinas College. She earned an MFA degree in Creative Writing from Western Michigan University.