Words: Sunday Morning at the Ice Rink

Cold white noise
hissing
Punctuated by
rattle of skates
whistling coach
clatter and tap
stick to ice

She bumps into the wall
no master of the stop
Still learning
to bend her knees
to harry
chase
sprint
on this ice
where standing
once proved
tough
Where
calamitous tumbles
brought the bruise

Round she goes
A little faster
Each time she passes
she smiles
A quick thumbs up
and she’s off
A little faster
Revolutions
This smiling
sliding
skating girl

[For Elise]   

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