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.


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