i don’t want to see a half man half goalie
that frightens me
mask on, human changes into beast
mask off, a fish with no fins. a spider with no legs:
something terrible happened here.
whatever person the goalie was before is
subsumed by total transformation
protection is restriction. for haft and heft and steel
dripping through the bars of vision. it’s better in fact
that the goalie can’t see. not blinders on a horse but a
shark in a cage. a bear on a leash
an elephant not taught its full strength
– whatever creatures goalies are is, by nature, restrained. And
to restrain the others we must
and we enjoy
complimenting the monster. thanking the monster
understanding that without the monster there would
be nothing at all. a little girl tries to explain emotions to
you and she can only verbalize that happiness and sadness
are a circle. without the other the circle of being is
misshapen. it marks a target. where she’s allowed to strike back
by definition a goaltender has a different way of seeing
the world. perhaps what i’m really trying to say is that i
crave that. it’s fear-driving. a calf without skin. a snake with
three bodies. the thirty foot length of an old, old sturgeon.
keep the mask on or reveal the body below. Suspended
animation is a scar on the understanding of the world. The
goalie and the metaphor viscous, tapping.
***
Qingqing Xi is a Chinese-Luxembourgian-American writer and poet who goes wild for hockey. Her proudest achievement yet is being published at her local library, but her works can also be found in dadakuku, Fresh Out, Sixth Tone, The Nanjinger, and other places. You can find her on twitter or bluesky at @itsmeqqxi when she’s not living, laughing, and loitering.
