Like Glass

When I say the lake is like glass 
I mean the kind of glass 
on which I once loved to skate,

back in the days when I waited 
patiently for the Zamboni
to shave the frosted chunks off the ice
and the pools of water to evaporate.

I remember lugging 
a weathered canvas duffel 
into an empty women’s locker room 

and dumping the second-hand gear
on the floor—the padded shorts 
with suspenders, shoulder pads, 
elbow pads, shin guards
(none of it flattering)–

and lacing a snug pair of boy’s skates 
on my feet, tying my hair back 
to fit a helmet on my head, 

shoving a mouthguard 
between my lips, sliding hands 
into oversized leather gloves,

grabbing my stick, 
and waddling out the door 
to join the guys,

determined
no one 
could tell me
what I could 
and couldn’t do.

So many injuries 
against the glass. 
Do you, too, 
remember the ceilings? 

​I wrote the essence of this poem on the 7-hour motor-sail from Ludington to Frankfort, before President Joe Biden decided to step aside and support Vice President Kamala Harris as the next president of the United States. If she is elected, and I plan to do my best to make that happen, our country would become the 60th country since 1960 to elect a woman as head of state. The splintering of glass would be heard by young girls around the world and the light of hope would shine on us all.