Skating by Kate Sorbara

Some winter nights we skated on the pond.
The milky way above, the ice its own
kind of milky mass below our blades.
Our hands and feet got cold, then colder.
Cloudy angels flew from our mouths.
Stars haloed everyone.
Sometimes we shouted and played red rover
or found an old shoe or a hockey puck
to play a cobbled game. Sometimes we circled
without a word, listening to the quiet
frosty darkness. Now and then
there was a thunderous crack from somewhere
far below and you couldn’t but quake
and wonder at the deep on either side.

Skating

I remember now, skating on a lake near where I grew up, feet numb but exhilarated to be out in the cold at night, so this poem speaks to me. It may not resonate with you, but I hope that you might at least get some of the feeling it evokes. Sorbara skillfully curates such clear images that even if you have never skated, you just might feel yourself gliding across the ice.

She sets the scene with the milky way above, the ice its own kind of milky mass below our blades. Hands and feet getting colder, while cloudy angels flew from our mouths. I delight in such images that make me wish I might have thought of them myself. I can hear the shouts of children playing red rover, calling someone over to our side, and of course, the ubiquitous pick-up hockey with no real rules, just lots of enthusiasm.

Then there are the times without words, listening to the quiet / frosty darkness. If you’ve ever heard thick ice cracking, you’ll know what she means about the thunderous crack from somewhere / far below and the heart-stopping sense that the ice might give way to the freezing waters. I’m particularly taken by her ending, how you couldn’t but quake / and wonder at the deep on either side. She offers the possibility of a depth above as well as below that hadn’t occurred to me as a child but which rings true now. Perhaps one of these winter nights you will experience some of this yourself, and if not, you will at least have this poem.