Out of darkness,
away from the group,
I tumble, bumble,
The cold ice smacks my black skin.
Scraping, slamming, yelling, whistles.
My fellow pucks and I sit, wait…
A pair of skates approaches.
I slide across the sheet of ice.
Back again to meet another stick.
This time I fly through the air to be caught by a leather glove.
I fall back to the ice and am covered in darkness.
A whistle blows.
WHACK once more…
Back and forth between the taped sticks…
I hear the laughter, feel the energy, and taste the cold.
Soon, I find myself captured by the rope webbing of the net,
screams of triumph around me.
This “mask poem” is inspired by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s National Poetry Month 2018 Challenge at The Poem Farm.