The small shiny silver blades
carry us across the ice.
With each powerful stroke,
our blades carry us farther
from the surrounding wall
and closer to each other.
Days and memories pour
from us, laughing, sharing
as our legs push to
skim the ice faster.
Holidays, parties and huge
history exams are remembered
and then promptly forgotten
as other, deeper, less remembered
days and times trickle in:
the day I got up to speak in Spanish and
pronounced half the words wrong, the day
spent basking in the sun as we were serenaded
by the football and soccer games,
ongoing games where the score doesn't
mean much and the teams never
change, the day, years ago, we
crowded in the bathroom at
school amongst the smells of
costly perfumes and the sweat of
nervous girls preparing for their first dance.
These thoughts, memories really,
propel us around the rink
until at last we step off
of the rough, torn up ice and
back into present times once again.
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