by Joanne Allen
Whereas before I remembered
the stillness of pink light at dusk
over the snow on 83rd Place
Now I recall
that I skated there
the prairie behind
flooded each winter
by the Chicago Fire Department
Sometimes
on the rink
after everyone else had gone home
I twirled and spinned
stretching out to
make wide sweeping
circles of 8
which cut into the glass
In my brown coat
with its fur trimmed collar
and my white skates
tip tapping over that
smooth glacier
mirroring the rosy hues
of dimming light
Backdropped by the supermarket
across the street
kelly green neon lights flashing on its front
promising supply, warmth, company, after dark
Sounds of chains strapped to passing tyres
slowly, rhythmically, slish-shoshing up the road
workers homeward bound
The silence when the road was empty
was breathtaking
then I could only hear
the dig of my blades
over the surface
as I carved
an unplanned pattern
And my breathing
slightly out of breath
breath I could see
still today
is mesmerizing
© Copyright Joanne Allen - THACS Writers Online 2020