Black ice was the smoothest
anyone could skate on—
blade tips sending stray cracks
shooting halfway across
the pond, folks arguing over
how thick the surface
needed to be—two inches, four—
before everyone skated off
to their parked cars, that bliss
of finally being left alone
to etch your signature
onto ice and make the pond
your own—imagine
how free you felt to get beyond
cell service, Wifi, how little
you knew when you fell through—
skates pulling you down
like cement shoes
as you clawed your way
back up—the jagged
surface breaking apart
in your hands each time
you tried, inducing
fresh panic each time
you failed—save
your breath, your life
reduced to this
one thing and one thing
only—no time
for pity or prayer
when no one’s coming
and what was the question
you couldn’t answer
eight feet down
as you flung yourself up and over
onto a shelf of ice
like a blind Hail Mary
in the grim seconds of a final quarter
emptied of all its fans—
TIMOTHY LIU is cooling his academic jets. He will start up again in the Fall when he joins the faculty at SUNY New Paltz. In the meantime he’ll be mostly staying put. Or driving around. Or giving I-Ching and tarot readings at the Omega Institute. www.timothyliu.net
If you enjoyed this poem, check out Timothy Liu’s latest book, Let it Ride, out now from Saturnalia Books.
