Milano Cortina, 2026

I must be getting old
because Winter Olympians
look like tiny neon children
and their leaps from high ledges
make me nervous.

It’s too late to learn how to skate backwards on one leg

and I have this weird urge
to feed hot soup to a cold adrenaline junkie.

I admit it:
these days having fun
feels like shattering my femur
on purpose

but at least I’m weary enough
to appreciate curling—

though it’s baffling
and I’d prefer them to leave the rink
pristine like tabula rasa.

This is why I keep trying to forget
how to skate forwards
but no, no

I slice on

& get thrills
from texts about potholes
(which chip at the edges of my ice).
Such is the slush we stuff in the void.

Anyway,
I’ve been vaguely watching
yellow stones
scupper the plans of red stones
all afternoon—

I’ll never get this time back,
or understand which collisions make you win.

Jade Peel is a secondary school English teacher and poet based in North London. She likes to run, play the piano, and write about the things that make her sigh.