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Red Frayed Mittens

Few friends knew why I sat
on a snow bank, close to
frozen ice – watching them
skate –

My frayed red mitten would
be covering my pointer finger
as I drew names, houses, on
ice –

Mother wondered why I never
wanted to skate – she knew I
detested brown straps around
my ankles attached to sparkling
white skates –

We walked up Seneca Street
turned left on Lenox Road and
a few more blocks, there it was
Steinmiz Park, frozen for all
neighborhood children

Wind blew into my face, a nose
as red as an apple, gloves –
stiff – so I sat – drawing
pictures with frayed red mittens –

Watched as Mother skated. and
all of my friend’s waved as they
skated my way.  Watched girls
twill as I did when I danced
on toe – or in slippers of pink
or black – without ankle straps.

I watched until Mother and my
Brother were ready to take
another cold walk home;  now
the wind against my back –
shoving me –

No one asked to see a city I
carved in ice – a city left
behind on a simple snow bank
with red frayed mittens.

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