A Skating Mother’s Journey to the Olympics

deathspiraldallasnations2003

Only a mother knows that dedication
Rising before four, often new rinks, new places;
things you need for the drive and the practice.
In those days, not one pair of skates but
two – start with figures (patch) skating turns with precision.

Your skater alert at last, changes boots, jackets, other things;
on to free style and then repeat, pay for ice,
drive back hoping that rush traffic doesn’t cut
you off; you glance over, see him as he traces
on his bookcover –brackets, threes on olympic rings.

Later on partners, new coaches – rush, delay
waiting on costumes, new blades, shaking but-
terflies before he skates then races
over to find out the results, meeting your eyes
with his looks of satisfaction or fierce dismay.

Decisions, money, time, travel, loss and gain
I know the competition rungs, the tarnish and the graces.
I’ve felt the courage, the joy, the hurt and anger disguised
with smiles, fists in gloves inside pockets – clenched shut.
Finally they open, ready to give him control over that joy and pain.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2014 * All Rights Reserved
This poem is a Karousel (so appropriate for a sport that goes round and round and round).
The form was invented by David James and his article can be found here.
I am posting for d’Versepoets today on OpenLinkNight

Autumn Nocturne

When moon’s a silent silver slivered rill,
then autumn sneaks by dark upon the stair
where night revolves yet all the stars stand still.

The sweet gum flames, its redness gladly spilled
across the spiderwebs spun vast, now bare
with moon a silent silver slivered rill.

The evening casts a spiky stirring chill;
when trees outline themselves as ghosts out where
the night revolves yet all the stars stand still.

Those silhouettes that scared the birds now spill
themselves on hedges full of purple snares;
when moon’s a silent silver slivered rill.

My heart beats slower, still I feel the thrill
of bonfire smoke and shows at county fairs
when earth revolves, yet all the stars stand still.

As midnight strikes I note the rising hill
that looms in darkness at that junction where
the moon’s a silent silver slivered rill
when earth revolves yet all the stars stand still.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 9/9/2012 * All Rights Reserved