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



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