the deepening ground

Tonight I came home from work to the day-to-day needs that swarm me almost as soon as I open my car door. The younger boys want to head to Walmart; my middle son’s basketball practice begins at 5:30; my wife and daughter have their book group meeting this evening, so we need to order pizza and have it ready before they leave; my mother-in-law wrote her last check and doesn’t have any more, so I’ll need to order replacements; my second-eldest son will be stopping by for elderberry syrup for his wife and to do laundry as well as discuss the new washer and dryer that we’re looking to get for their apartment; and these needs come in addition to the normal daily responsibilities like doing the dishes, packing lunch, and setting the coffee for tomorrow. I’ve been home for nearly five hours and have yet to change out of my work clothes.

On my ride back from dropping my son off at basketball practice, Linda Pastan’s poem, “Sometimes in Winter,” came skating into my memory. Snow blankets the ground and the promise of more, along with colder weather dipping into negative digits next week, brings the reality of her ice skaters and “the fragile faces / of those I love” into sharp focus.

I have always loved this poem’s honesty and what I believe lies beneath the desire “to be one of those people who skate / over the surface // of their lives.” I believe the speaker realizes the trade off. Sure, the skaters seem so free, able to score “the ice with patterns / of their own making” unencumbered by any of the more weighty responsibilities of life. But surface-level living is shallow. Soon enough, those patterns will be erased or covered, the ice will melt, and nothing will remain of those fleeting moments of so-called freedom to be yourself.

And don’t forget to consider all of this in the context of Pastan’s title, which really serves as the first line of the poem. The speaker’s longing only occurs sometimes in winter. In other words, it’s not a constant, and it tempts most effectively in those cold, hard times of life.

The longing is real; don’t get me wrong. I felt it tonight. But then I see my ten-year-old son sitting out on the street corner, bundled up due to the cold, with his sign advertising “Theo’s Snacks: Unleash Your Snack Adventure,” selling his homemade shortbread, snickerdoodles, and peppermint bark. I see my three sons sledding for hours in the back yard. I see my daughter delicately crafting another crochet or felt animal. I see dinners around our kitchen table with my eldest sons and their wives. I see our family expanding with two grandchildren due in 2025. I see my wife laboring through the years to bring to life the rewarding vision of our family. And I am content to just watch the skaters from the warmth of my home enveloped by the clamor of being needed and being given the gift to leave an indelible mark on “the fragile faces / of those I love.”

Sometimes in Winter
by linda pastan

when I look into
the fragile faces
of those I love

I long to be
one of those people who skate
over the surface

of their lives, scoring
the ice with patterns
of their own making,

people who have
no children,
who are attached

to earth only by
silver blades moving
at high speed,

who have learned to use
the medium of the cold
to dance in.

This poem originally appeared on page 210 of the December 1989 issue of Poetry, now hosted by The Poetry Foundation (see the hyperlinked title above).