Thin Ice

The ice lets me know itโ€™s not ready
with a peculiar noise:
half crack, half echo.
My heart freezes and climbs
through my throat into my head,

where it tries to look out from my nostrils.
My gut stays calm;
my skate blades adjust;
my path assumes a line to the edge.
The middle is not ready

to bear me on a journey
to the other side.
I have only to wait
for the season to deepen
and the ice to call.

FromTheBerm

icehole

(top: shambhalatimes.org; bottom: americablog.com)

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About Jim Stewart

Writer at Butt in Chair
This entry was posted in Aging, Hope, Poem, Writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Thin Ice

  1. HK says:

    I love the images.

  2. Your ice is ready, Jim. ๐Ÿ™‚

  3. Thank you for visiting my blog and liking one of my posts. Blessings, Natalie ๐Ÿ™‚

  4. cindy knoke says:

    I love the poem and the sheeting ice. But the last image makes my head hurt! ๐Ÿ˜‰

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