February 2, 2025The Skaters
At the rink, they whoosh, these little bundled
Beings, their scarves graffitiing the air
My daughter weaving among them, her long legs
Pumping, the bright pink kitty earmuffs, a blur
& I imagine those other skaters this week
Their blades asleep in their stowed luggage
Their ankles describing triple toe loops
& double axels above the twilight Potomac
We parents know what it is to be afraid
Of the uncertain, the incendiary, the whirring dark,
Deviations from flight plans, the unconfirmed
Reports of whomever, whatever wasn’t supposed to
Happen, but the fact is it is always happening,
What we most fear & feared & glide away from,
But never escape, & still the faith that these feet
Ours & our children’s, will trace something
Beautiful, an arabesque on ice, the perfect cursive
Of a name that will melt away, but the memory
Of which we might trace, so delicately like this line
Right here, whirling away into the dear humming dark
from Poets Respond