A blog is an autobiography written as you're reading it.

Ice Skating

Another poem that I wrote today at the mall, watching various people skating. I have two or three other pieces of writing that I’m waiting to upload, but time has been short with finals lately. In the meantime, enjoy this one. It’s a bit of a different feel—a lighter feel than what I’ve written before.

I’d love to be able to skate
Like that little girl on the rink
Dressed in purple and black,
Flutter about like a
winter bird.
Or the old man who skates
Like a falcon, speeding along until
He’s only a blur, whipping around
Corners with wind in his face.

I don’t think I’d skate like that

Maybe for a little bit I’d do it
Right, and inch along slowly, but
I’d probably fall eleventeen times.

I’m not scared of falling
But it makes me feel weak
And it makes me feel like I don’t
Know anything, like a baby.

Maybe I’ll enjoy skating
of the bumps and bruises
and not in spite of them.

The little girl is still skating,
Twirling around gently and
Skating on polished glass.
She didn’t learn in one try
I bet she fell down a lot, too
And still does, if she wants to get better.

I’d love to be able to skate.
the way that little girl can
All I have to do is try.
And be ready to fall down.

Andrew Joyce