For the Love of the Ice

There is the sound of driving three hours to a game

with the bass booming.

There is the permanent smell of hockey when the players open their bags in the locker rooms.

There is the sound of the Zamboni humming as it shaves the ice.

There is the sound of skates being sharpened.

There is the feeling the players get as they step onto the fresh ice.

There is the sound of everyone

both fans and players

holding their breath

waiting

for the puck to be dropped.

There is the split second when the puck hits the ice

and the players haven’t yet moved.

There is the sound of padded bodies colliding against each other

and slamming against the boards.

There is the sound of the stick hitting the puck,

forming the perfect slap shot.

There is the sound of the puck flying through the air.

There is the sound it makes when it hits the back of the net.

There is the sound of cowbells as the fans jump out of their seats in excitement.

There is the moment when the puck nails a player in the face.

There is the sound of a tooth

flying through the air

then dropping to the ice.

There is the moment when two players throw off their gloves.

There is the sound of a tight fist crunching against the nose of another player

and the smell of blood falling onto the ice.

There is the sound of the fighters skating to the penalty boxes.

There is the sound of fans and players swearing at the referees.

There is the sound of the buzzer marking the periods

and the end of the game.

There is the sound of the winning team’s toothless smiles

and the losing team’s defeat.

There is the hum of the scoreboard

displaying each team’s fate.

There is the lingering smell of chew in the penalty box.

There is the feeling of standing in the cold rink alone

at the end of a game

waiting.

There is the smell of sweat as players walk by one by one

showing off their bruises and cuts.

There is the sound of my boyfriend walking out of the locker room.

There is the feeling of his eyes

reaching mine.

As he hugs me

there is the smell of his wet mullet

like flowers.

There is the feeling of his lips

so soft

on mine.

There is the feeling of being in his arms again

after three long hours

of watching him sacrifice his body