Ice Sestina

It’s cold.
But I can’t wear my gloves while I tie my skates
My knee’s bang together as I stand up. Weak
Ankles, straining to balance on the blades.
I can feel the heaters above me, a breeze
That pushes me forward; through the door, onto the ice.

I forget this feeling of freedom on the ice
After I go home, legs burning, toes cold.
I close my eyes and push forward on my skates
Ignoring reality, the pressure that makes me weak
Focus on the sound, ice on blade
Faster yet, my worries fly away in the breeze.

Do they feel this breeze?
As they, stick in hand, slice across the ice
Do they feel the cold?
Do they feel freedom on skates
Too? Or is that weak?
Stick, puck, net, blade.

What about her? On the toe of the blade?
Spinning so fast, the crown can feel the breeze.
Jumps, twirls, a spray of ice.
Her only expression: one of cold
Concentration. Her legs are a continuation of her skates
A part of her. Without them, she’s weak.
Alone here, I’m not weak.
A strange place to meet him, on blades
And still alone. Yet I feel him in the breeze
As I circle the ice.
A strange way to connect, but he meets me in the cold,
Gliding with me, my God finds me on skates.

I can forget life when I’m on skates.
When everything’s gone, he strengthens the weak.
He steadies me, when I’m balanced on one blade.
When I wobble and sway in the breeze.
He melts away my protective ice,
Warms my hands in his, chases away the cold.