ICE
By Marilyn Mohr
I
Cautious, I remember the fall,
The suspension of belief
blinking in my eyes
The slow numbness of movement
Relief tasting in my mouth like fresh oranges
As I rise mobile knowing
Tenuous ascension and certain fear
descending in my depths
deeper than any fall
Safely bruised I move more slowly
weighted by apprehension
Dragging on, dragging.
II
He does not know ice,
Sees it as a thing to glide on
Skates across accelerated by fresh winds
Scarf flying with the adventure,
He is bird flight bending around the curve
an impatient speed racer impervious to friction
He does not miss it now,
Sure footed and fleet, protected by innocence
He leaves me gasping at the glistening edge.
III
The road, the walk, the steps
crystalline bright in the presence of sun
blinding, refracting nature
Taunting me to dance wildly
on their gleaming surfaces
To spin and spin and spin
Intoxicated against breakage
by a shining landscape
finally flipping onto myself
as my car did years ago
and I climbed out carrying a bleeding child
The glare sharp edged and clear
as the diamonds I have since locked away
VENICE, CALIFORNIA
By Marilyn Mohr
At the edge of the ocean,
the western limits,
The world is in movement,
leaping barriers
Roller bladers,
skate boarders,
time surfers
Even the old take risks
jumping the barrels,
The earth's plates move
and they ride the quake,
unable to adjust to the clock,
the dance is timeless.
Jerry Garcia is dead,
gray veterans hold each other,
sitting along the sand,
still and silent as debris
washed up on the shores,
waiting for purpose.
Volume 8 Index