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Thin Ice
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Published: Wed Oct 15 2008
Night reading mode 

Thin Ice

I was walking on it,
the it I gave no thought to
and which my father got the gist of
and had to scold me about. It
was creaking. Newly hatched,
the jewel-toned fish swam
beneath: cold vault of readied
kisses. I went slowly on it—young
lady—trying to be leaf-like,
to be zip, zero, zilch,
while the old man’s voice
lifted—Who?!—from a shore
forty years off—just who
do you think you are?

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