By John W.
Vapors off the ice
Wafted in the glint
Of a morning sun
Peeking midst the boughs
Of trees standing watch
Over the solitary pond.
To the wandering eye
Disclosing no clue as
To the thickness of the ice
Or the depth of the water below
Revealing only it was
Cold enough to freeze.
Which should be enough
To warn the skater
About whether or not
The venue selected for today’s binge
Was a wise one or simply a mistake,
Thinking this time would be different . . .
From the last time
Where ice a body’s weight
Did not support.
Where freezing cold water
Greeted double axel’s landing;
Where Thin Ice was.
Insanity only would
Cajole the eye to wander to
Again, where before had
Been disaster, almost death.
The blindness of denial
A powerful amnesia.
Skater still those bright blades
Sharpened and at laces firmly tugged
Round leather tongues upon tibia pressed
Preparing for today’s foray
Upon a pond, into a life,
Upon Thin Ice, which lay ahead.
T’was then a thought hit,
As shivering as the warming
Snow which upon the skater fell
From overloaded limb above
Finally coaxed by sun’s rays:
“Not this time – Not this Day!”
This thought “dropped” quickly
From skater’s head to heart
Knots, though firm, untied with ease.
Wooden runners upon sharpened blades
Were likewise now with ease replaced.
Snow boots soon shod the skater’s feet.
The Thin Ice a challenge
To be faced perchance another day,
Just not to be faced: Today.
This day would be different.
This day the skater had awakened.
This day the skater could say “No”.
