Rewriting Nagano

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Four and a half minutes from gold,

Todd Eldredge has nailed this routine so often,

he can skate it in his sleep. But this time,

slightly off on the axel’s landing,

he only doubles the triple toeloop.

He doubles the next, then singles,

one flubbed jump leading to another,

his future falling away. To save himself 

he adds an extra triple,

looking for a second like he has it

before falling to the ice.

 

We all have moments that reduce us,

wobbly planks in our life’s staircase

that years later send us crashing down.

Because his torso tilted slightly to the left,

(because I went to the One Hundred Club that night….)

 

Todd sweats backstage while large screens broadcast his mistakes—

slow motion on the misstep, close-up of the fall.

Because he was sick in ’84 and injured in ’88,

(because my parents were too young)

because someone decided three stand on the podium

and he is fourth,

Todd tries philosophy.

Everyone does not get everything they want.

 

Twenty-six, he is too old to try again,

so I decide to roll time backward, let him change the moments

that will change his life.

Then keep rewinding,

back to art school;  I will shove “expelled” back into the director’s mouth

and return my supplies to the shelf—pencils sharp, paint gleaming.

Rewrite even further—untie the belt from my arm,

unthrow the dishes in my mother’s hands,

make my brother unbreak down the door. Ungo, unfeel, unsay….

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With each undoing my body lightens.

Neck unfreezes, shoulder blades slide down,

belly loosens, pelvis comes unlocked.

Sequins glimmer on my short skirt

as I twirl with Todd.

The judges all write 6 when we emerge from death spins

To nail flawless loops and salchow combinations,

every one-foot landing clean and dazzling.