reread your old writing and root for yourself again (and again) which is why you wrote it down in the first place even if you didn't know it

 I just found a poem I posted 9 years ago on another blog that I forgot about and it made me cry and be happy and grateful I wrote it down because I was there for me. And now here for me there, then, now.  You may not appreciate it when you write it, you may think it's bad or clunky or pretentious or whatever... but it is you and you wrote it down for you (and you may as well love it because what else ultimately, i mean what's the alternative?)  and someday, yearsdays away, like the words I'm writing now, you will come across it on some vague Wednesday afternoon and be so endeared to it you'll want to step between the lines of time and give yourself a hug.  

I Remember How Ice Skating is Like This 

and now walking is like this

skidding and gripping and slipping and cramping all cartoon like and

reaching for the wall

for relief
for safe harbor
for gratitude

to rest (oh thank god I can stay here forever i don't have to skate anymore i hate this i want off  these skates make my feet fall in all funny and what's wrong with me that's not how Lisa's skating, but Lisa has a skating skirt so that must be why, but fuck it, my feet are falling into themselves and I am going to fall and break my head and my ankles and my calves feel like shishkabob and please let me just hang on this wall forever until it's time to go or better yet let's slide skate all the way to the open part and crawl on the wet felt neon blackbluered floor until you realize hey I can take these things off hallelujah!)

and i look for the wall on dry land
my good leg leading the way, a loyal dog
until we reach the counter, the wall, the doorknob...
only now the wall gets hot and burns up and so do the canes
and we all go down: canes, good leg, bad leg, me
sacrificed on the pick

and now walking is like this

and I worship my good leg and
I worship my two canes, one silver, one copper, mismatched in girth and height who
I've grown to love like letters of the alphabet

who I miss dearly and long for when they are out of sight or reach

because without them I am ice skating

and now walking is like this

it hit me hard today, again and again, over and over, clear as winter morning

and now walking is like this