{"id":7092,"date":"2018-01-19T01:00:16","date_gmt":"2018-01-19T08:00:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/?p=7092"},"modified":"2018-01-18T15:54:36","modified_gmt":"2018-01-18T22:54:36","slug":"at-the-ice-rink-by-alison-luterman-prompt-349","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/at-the-ice-rink-by-alison-luterman-prompt-349\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cAt the Ice Rink\u201d by Alison Luterman . . . Prompt #349"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n
\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today\u2019s writing prompt is a poem by Alison Luterman. When the prompt is a poem, you can write on the theme or the mood of the poem. Or use a stanza, a line, or a word to inspire your writing. Just Write!<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

At the Ice Rink<\/p>\n

I came here to fail
\nand to fall
\nbut not so well
\nas that man careening over the ice
\nsliding into the wall
\nas if into second base
\nshambling up, grinning, like a great bear,
\nand taking off again,<\/p>\n

saying, over his shoulder,
\n“You’ve got it backwards.
\nLearn to fall first,
\nthen\u00a0 <\/em>skate.”<\/p>\n

I end up clinging
\nbarnacle-like to the sides,
\ninching around the perimeter like a caterpillar.
\nWall-hugger. Nothing has changed since I was eight
\nand my parents paid for skating lessons
\nin hopes I would become more balanced.<\/p>\n

Now as then I am wobbling, terrified,
\nfeet frozen like blocks of wood at the ankles.
\nNot loose-limbed and easy like Hilary
\nwho rides the ice like a North wind scouring the plains,
\nnor deft and graceful like Ruth
\npicking up her feet and kick-gliding
\nin time to the ’70’s pop muzak.<\/p>\n

But what can we do
\nwhen fear throws its rustiest pickaxe
\ndead ahead in our path?<\/p>\n

Mince. Inch. Stumble. Pray
\nfor the grace to fall
\nand not be rescued, pray for the scramble-up<\/p>\n

for the liberating laughter that knowsit is not in our control.
\nThere is the center, gleaming like a fish-eye.
\nLittle girls spin on it, twirling their bright skirts.
\nIt shines under its white scars like a destiny.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Alison Luterman<\/p>\n

Alison Luterman<\/a>:<\/p>\n

As a child, I used to creep onto the stairs when my parents had guests over and eavesdrop on the grown-ups. A creak of the stairs would invariably give away my position and I\u2019d be chased back to bed, only to reappear at the next opportunity, hiding and listening. I wanted to be where the interesting conversations were happening. I still want that. Only now the conversations happen all over the country, all over the world, with friends, friends of friends, and complete strangers. Our stories rub up against each other and expand and change in ways I could never have imagined when I was young, and they now include rocks, weeds, fruit trees, cats, stars, and myths from all over the world, as well as all kinds of people.<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  Today\u2019s writing prompt is a poem by Alison Luterman. When the prompt is a poem, you can write on the theme or the mood of the poem. Or use a stanza, a line, or a word to inspire your writing. Just Write! At the Ice Rink I came here to fail and to fall […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"sfsi_plus_gutenberg_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_show_text_before_share":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_type":"","sfsi_plus_gutenberg_icon_alignemt":"","sfsi_plus_gutenburg_max_per_row":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[4],"tags":[744,6,105,342,10,11],"class_list":["post-7092","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prompts","tag-alison-luterman","tag-freewrites","tag-just-write","tag-the-write-spot-blog","tag-writing-freely","tag-writing-prompts"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p43Dj8-1Qo","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7092","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7092"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7092\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7101,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7092\/revisions\/7101"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7092"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7092"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thewritespot.us\/marlenecullenblog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7092"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}