I push off onto virgin
ice, make the first
surface cuts, though deeper
down I can see filled-in ruts
blue as veins. Hush, the blades
say as they push away,
away, then cross
one over the other
on the corners. Leaving
trails of shaved ice, woman-
made snow behind me, I mar
the hard, opaque face.

On the second lap, she joins me,
both of us skating backwards
now, the rasp of right blades
punctuating our talk
as right skates do the work
of both in crossovers.
Her sister's mastectomy
went well, she says. She chose
against reconstructive
surgery, to lessen the time
on the table, the threat
of infection. Her doctor said,
expect a month of pain.
We talk of women with family
histories who choose
to have both breasts
removed, a preventative
measure.

At last, the blue circle
in the center is free. We travel
its perimeter counterclockwise,
round and round, our blades
slicing deeper each time,
then make a three turn
from front to back.
Gliding along the same
path, we watch
where we've been.