The Fieldstone Review

Wandawoowoo Learns to Skate


My body and I are barely
on speaking terms. Friends insist
that broccoli rocks, blueberries
and spinach too. I eat whatever they fix,
but really, give me a rolodex

with pastry names. I’m drawn
to skating, sit too much before
the computer’s maw, the TV
huckster’s hands on my bra.
Ice breaks apart,
heals, shines. Skating requires

a sense of swerve. I never get
balance right, keel over.
Knees slightly bent, maybe gravity
wants me to fail. I practice

falling, more when I’m
in love, which I rarely get right either.
Love often works against balance.

Up and around I go,
Skywinder Pond holding me,
someone who trusts as she quails
in motion.