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by Margaret Hasse
White stars have fallen into the trees
of Rice Park where we can see
the cold statue of F. Scott Fitzgerald
wearing his stocking cap of snow.
Nearby, a silver platter of frozen ice
is etched by many blades.
Skaters look like figurines cast against
the granite walls of Landmark Center.
Thousands of years ago people used
animal bones lashed to their feet.
How long since we last let go, pushed off?
$8.00 rents two old pairs of leather skates.
The unsteady boats of our bodies set out
on a wobbly go-round-the-rink.
Muscle memory instructs: relax knees
so legs can shove and stroke to glide.
Soon we will orbit like planets, following
others in bright coats who follow us.
Everything whirls: snowflakes, lights, stars.
Into the night we blow blue clouds of breath.