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.

A Reason- Billy Collins Poem

It keeps hounding me in my mind.
That voice that sounds eerily like my mother
With a bit more judgment thrown in
For good measure.

It thrives on guilt,
Poking like a sliver stuck in your sock
At that soft part of me
That I already have doubts about.
It gets to me.

Cleaning
Baking
Drinking
All at once.
I’m doing all I can to ignore her.

Ooops, I mean it.

There’s a reason I don’t keep a gun in the house.

Fireworks

1. He looks down at his hands, feet, himself
Inadequate in his own eyes. But she
Is perfect to him. Pure, like a nun
But without the lifetime commitment.
Fireworks burst behind him. She smiles.
He watches her, wishing, hoping, wanting
But holding back. Waiting. Sparklers burst
Around them, framing her in a heavenly glow.

2. She looks down at her hands, entwined
With his. Resting on the cold metal of
Her folding chair. The air in the gymnasium
Is heavy, warm, stifling from the crowd.
Music begins and she glances behind
Searching for him, his from is so familiar
Almost identical to the man next to her.
Twenty years ago, in front of the fireworks.

Dangerous, Treacherous, Hazardous You

I know how your hands feel
intertwined in my hair or
pressed against my back or
clutched between mine.

I know how your lips feel
pressed against my cheek or
nibbling on my ear or
Moving slowly against mine.

Stop.
I sit up and move away.
Away from the warmth
of you.

Stop
those hazardous lips
treacherous arms.
Dangerous you.

-SarahBaughman

Stories

“when I say remember
Your eyes reflect, give back.”
You ask me to tell you a story,
As your fingers make dizzying trails
Across the back of my neck,
Sending shivers down my back that
Distract me.
A story? I ask. About what?
You don’t know. Make one up.
So I start.
I tell you there once was a girl,
I start this way because I am a girl
And after all, I should tell you a story
About what I know.
So this girl, I say,
Has a car.
A car? You ask.
Yes. Shut up. I reply.
You are always interrupting my stories.
You remain quiet and your fingers are still
Distracting me.
She has a car. I say.
And she’s driving her car at night.
At night? You ask.
I sit up from the spooning position
We were in.
We like to spoon.
It makes us feel closer
Because we fit together so well.
Do you want a story? I ask.
You wrap your arms around me.
A hug.
I just want to hear you talk.
You whisper.
I’m distracted.
You always do this.
I stare at you and
Your eyes are sparking
With concealed mirth.
I’ve never finished a story
You’ve asked me to tell.

Family Poem

When I think of Mom

It’s Wal-Mart.
Take a left after entering the store
Right back to the Christmas isle.
All those plastic trees
Balanced precariously
On display for all to see.
To buy.
You took a rubber lizard
And tied the tail
To a random tree branch.
“decorations!” you claim.
It’s random. It’s bizarre.
It makes me laugh every time
I remember it.
and
Dad would be
So embarrassed.

August, 2009 Sioux Falls, SD

We were in the middle
Of hundreds of
Adolescence, dripping
In the August sun.
My little sister and I.

The lead singer,
With his football pads
And hulk gloves,
Spat out lyrics
About his momma and
Dancing on cardboard.
We knew every word.

A group of short,
Annoyingly giggly,
Girls stared at us.
As we two white
Girls from Iowa
Rapped along.