For a quarter you could skate all night, 
with a boy, maybe, to hold your hand 
during the Moonlight Skate, his arm 
clutching your waist, both of you 

a little afraid of falling.
Maybe he would tie up your laces 
nice and tight while you tucked your 
shoes under the bench. He'd offer 

his arm, while you wobbled, then 
straightened and began the slow 
progress of becoming. Love Me Tender 
shivered on the record player, 

as his hips shimmied and your skates 
clacked as you picked up speed. 
Back then it was all about looking 
good, about the dizzy circle

moving fast and risky, letting 
the boy hold you steady while your 
skates buzzed the wooden floor, 
and standing outside later, touching 

hands, crickets fiddling around you, 
moth wings folding and unfolding 
in the light, that first kiss 
hanging in the air.

From Flight Patterns, winner of the 2003 Main Street Rag Chapbook Contest.
This poem first appeared in Poet Lore (2003).

Used here with the author's permission.