Sharon D. Cohagan
Ice Skating
I almost burned my tongue on the hot cocoa. Sitting at the window of this indoor skating rink, I watch my daughter pirouetting on the ice, and remember playing crack the whip with my friends on a frozen pond. The clutch in my stomach when it was my turn to be at the end; the adrenaline rushing when I flew across the bumpy ice. I broke my arm three years in a row.
As eleven-year olds, Mother drove us to this ice rink, and we skated round and around to Strauss waltzes. We were no longer as daring. We were content to skate our circles with a best friend, often in matching outfits. There was a lot of showing off, giggling and flirting. But the boys were more interested in practicing to make the hockey team. Some days, mothers would gather to watch us from the coffee shop. At the end of the hour, we skaters thawed, sipping cocoa with marshmallows.
Today my cocoa has a splash of rum instead of marshmallows. Abba blares from the loudspeakers. I look around. It does not look much different than it did in earlier times. The benches and chairs are new and more comfortable. But the tables are still wobbly, and the picture-window overlooking the rink is as steamed up as in years gone by. Small portions have been rubbed clean. The mothers looking out wear broad smiles. Their daughters skate solo with bored expressions.
slowly, step by step the crunch of brittle ice under my boots pigeons huddle on chimneys tabbies purr on the hearth rug
About the Author
Sharon D. Cohagan lives in Germany. Two poetry chapbooks were published in 2006 in California. Since 2019 her focus is on Japanese poetry. Her work appears in contemporary haibun online, The Haibun Journal, Drifting Sands Haibun, Under the Basho, cattails, and Autumn Moon Haiku.