The Skater

In the center of the ice, my daughter,
sleek, tawny hair French-braided,
spins gracefully to Clair de Lune,
then leans her body back
until her face is barely visible.

I hold my breath as she spirals and loops
on currents of coolness, whisper
Don’t slip as she spread-eagles her calves,
those strong willows on edges.

I remember skating on jagged ice,
playing crack-the-whip
with wind-blown hair tucked under
a wool hat, then shivering
in the warming shack where my toes
thawed in the heater’s blast.

How I wish I’d been this girl,
gifted with elegance and possibility,
gliding river smooth
in a dress of white chiffon,
its skirt shimmering blue

like sky unleashed by fog.

Published in
Saving Ourselves: An Anthology Advocating for Women & Girls