The Cold Rink

The cold rink, so still and bright

Was something I once hated. 

My large and heavy skates

Created marks on the surface.

My coach would call out my name

As I fell over and over on a simple jump.

The coldness of the rink, wasn’t from the ice

But the people surrounding me.

That same place, now crowded and loud,

Is something I look forward to experiencing. 

No more pressure, no more yelling,

I can breathe while gliding on

The slippery surface.

As the memories use to haunt me,

I am now glad I had then.

The cold rink, my favorite place.