My Little Gorgon

In the car, she is Jane: hoodie up, eyes down, 
Rolling her eyes as  this mom drives through town.  
Beneath the rink lights, the pregame trance takes hold, 
Where the Gorgon emerges, silent and cold.

While her helmet sits waiting, her hair a living crown, 
A God-given power that refuses to back down. 
Her stare is a warning, a cold-burning blaze, 
And I know, for my safety, to avoid her sharp gaze.

In figure skating, ballet, and beams, she stood too tall, 
Too much for the spaces that prefer girls small.
But here on cold ice, where the metal meets grit, 
The pieces of Jane finally started to fit.

These brown eyes burn through the wires of her cage,
Claiming every inch of the ice as her stage.
Jane Train loads up at the faceoff dot, 
5’8” of "Don't test me"—she knows what she’s got.

When they chirp at her ears, try to rattle her game, 
She breathes in their insults as fuel for her flame. 
She’s steady and coiled as the ref drops the puck, 
Then pounces with power, leaving them stuck. 

With high-velocity and a thundering roar, 
She’s a 14er in motion that settles the score. 
They hit and they fall, at her blades they retreat, 
Just wreckage and echoes left down at her feet. 

I still see the sprite that she was, her first lesson at three, 
Refusing to stop, she’d just skate and be free.
Two staffers had to catch her, drag her from the ice, 
Kicking and screaming, she wouldn't go nice.

The last to be off, now a legend released –
My girl on fire, my teenage Gorgon, an unstoppable beast.