Ice-Skating Lessons by Nancy Schatz Alton
One of the twelve truths I can explain is how her bangs*
wouldn’t feather the right way
her hairs always fell back to rest in a straight line
above brown glasses.
Her feather-light tresses fell straight down
her glasses made a gateway for her ears that always listened
for my reply
her mouth curving into want of my attention.
Her cheeks are frozen and full of childhood’s chubbiness
she never lost her baby fat to true adolescence
yet her hazelnut irises pierce every hour I breathe within.
She loved my sassy-cutting sarcasm, my bossiness.
She moves forward inside me
laces her skates around 11-year-old ankles.
I teach her to ice skate every January.
*Part of this first line might be from a poem. The line was used in an exercise at a poetry class led by Kelli Russell Agodon and Susan Rich, two amazing poets and teachers. I’m sorry that I can’t find the poem the line or idea is from…