Small window in the winter
of English winters when we knew
conditions chance aligned
to hold the weight of our escapes
and we knew the place,
that the ice would not wait,
we made the trip to silvered field,
we tied them on, ready to wield
those heavy blunted clunking clogs,
would make us feel as high as sprites
the brown old leather ankle boots
their metal blades with flecked rust bites
had seen better snowbound seasons
on our grandparents; quick heels.
Back upon the glaze, animals transformed
how they still could dance and reel
make our growing bones buzz and sing,
and race and speed on frozen range,
then we were their ghosts,
souls flying free over flooded plains.
Martin Ferguson was born in West Yorkshire. His poems have appeared in several publications including Envoi, Iota, Purple Patch and more recently The Guardian online and Ink Sweat and Tears. His first collection was shortlisted by Against The Grain Press and published in 2018 by Original Plus. He gives occasional readings at Au Chat Noir, Paris.