By Sandra LeDuc
Turn into the slide.
It’s the first thing you learn about driving on ice.
Do not pump your brakes.
Do not panic and overcorrect
lest you send the car into an unrecoverable spin.
You were probably going too fast for the conditions.
Because what the ice wants, it gets
a frozen wave seeking its shore.
You are a pebble, turned, lifted, spat out
against guardrail, snowbank, ditch, over the embankment down into a ravine
snow dusting the hood.
Or maybe you are flung into unending light.
Turn into the slide.
Incantation, blessing, plea to the unknown.
Strength in your hands as you let go of the wheel.
You are drifting.
Sandra LeDuc is a queer writer, adoptee, and musician. Originally from Minnesota, she lives in Seattle with her wife, two cats, and a dog named Noodge. Her work has been published in The Rumpus and Entropy. She can be found on Instagram as @sandrainseattle
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