Your Hands

Your hands
Lined with grease and strong with hard work
Warm my screaming fingers and toes
Protesting that I stayed too long on the ice

Who can come in?
On a perfect Saskatchewan winter night
Ice Cold
Clear Sky
Skates scraping
We are magical and powerful
And we skate and skate till we can’t feel our fingers and toes anymore
And then the  rink shack beckons us with it’s 
Warm fire and 
Smell of wet wool and
 Export A cigarettes and 
Black rubber mats and 
Your hands.