She is only seven.
I still have to help her get her skates on.
She just learned how to tie her sneakers.
She just learned how to remove the blade guards.

I watch her struggle to stretch the spring on the guards.
She steps on the ice and swoosh, she is gone.
The scratching of her blades on the fresh ice are like fingernails on my soul.

She is only seven.
My baby.
Yet on the ice, she has the grace of a swan.
She is more comfortable on two thin blades of metal than a fish in water.
left forward inside edge, side toe hop, right forward outside edge
bunny hop,bunny hop, waltz jump, mazurka.
She rises a good 5-6 inches off the ice and lands without fear.

I cannot keep up with her.
I’ve reached the point that I must simply sit off to the side and watch.
I can’t tell when she does a half toe loop
I confuse it with a half lutz.

She has coaches now.
They will guide her in her natural element.
My beautiful, warm ice princess
Her blades cut patterns and figures in the ice
and cut the maternal strings in my soul.

All I can do
is sit in the bleachers
and smile and wave