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