Just north of Minneapolis
on Shingle Creek
my Dad and I
would pull on our worn brown leather skates
the endless task of lacing them up
and then skate down the narrow
frozen stream where fresh wounds
bubbled up between the jutting rocks.
I want to go back to those days
I took for granted.
I want to follow my Dad up
that treacherous stream, barely missing
rocks, branches, open water.
I want to remember what it was like
to be in the sixth grade
to have that dark, cold
winding river ahead of me
and not be afraid.
Originally published on the Outlet website.
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