Paducah, Ky

Poem by Bethany Brengan

A town’s heart should be near

the center, but yours

was always by the river. As if the floods

had never happened. As if water 

ever respected optimism. You set your square, 

your fairs and festivals, and your farmers

markets right up against the edge— 

and one year: an ice-skating rink. 

I don’t know how a Southern city 

with late frosts and early springs 

afforded so much freeze, but this 

unreasonable 

mirror was our most popular 

winter attraction. 

My fibro had just set in, new and picky 

about simple things: wrinkles in bedsheets,

seeds under mattresses, arms 

that stiffened into pinions. Nothing

jarring, I was advised. No

jumping jacks. No lifting

weights within a week of flare-up.

No problem, I thought. I could barely tie

my red shoes. But the ice, so rare here 

and so rarely kind, was a mercurial mercy. I flew. 

I spun. I was steadier on slivers 

of blade than on my own stairs. 

I balanced on one leg; tinny heart,

steady. I struck my feet against the glass

like I was lighting every match

on earth and seeing heaven. I was the most

confused mermaid, agreeing to dance on knives 

in exchange for a few days in a new body, 

raising my arms to embrace the daughters 

of the wind gusting off the ravenous river.