Thin Ice

I cry to go with my brother.
They leave me far behind,
Wait at the gate of Henderson’s field.
I am to walk across the pond,
A child Jesus on chill glass.
Arms cannot touch –
The high lift of my feet –
Skreak and craze – craze
All silver and faraway green.
No breathing nerves tightrope,
Ice warning of its substance
Skreak and craze – hard shoes
Laid down, footless.
Ice-girl, I see the weedy water
Glazed as through a cataract
My own eyes cast down frozen.