Fragile / Waiting

Fragile / Waiting

a poem by Ana Portillo

My footsteps were lead, heavy resonance.

Steady pace, focused.

Above me, it was tartar, deep ink

freckled with stars.

I slowed to a stop on the concrete path, 

looking onto thick cakes

of untouched snow, 

free of footprints breaking through.

My boot fell heavy,

expecting to cut through easy

like whipped icing.

But it met resistance, solid ice.

Still untouched. I did not break it.

Slowly, I took a small step forward. 

And then

another.

I can’t remember the last time I ever

giggled to myself.

I felt

weightless.

Stilted movements,

but gliding.

I lost 

my hesitance.

I lost

my footing.

The ice cracked like a wafer, snapped in half.

I fell into, 

downward.

My heel, stuck. 

I should have known I would fall.

I can’t remember the last time

I ever 

giggled to myself.