cikhtalae

Dozens of us huddled together in the grey before the dark. Shivering in heavy coats, blowing on frigid fingers, we pace. The action and its shadows flash back and forth. We yell as Shorty pounds toward the goal hounded by two other boys. A foot catches his ankle; angry shouts crystallize on the cold air.  The whistle blows, the purple-clad bless the ref’s eyes. It’s still a tie.  A balance kept by sheer determination.  My eyes are getting tired as they follow flitting shapes in the dark. The tension aches, throbs, hums.  The boys pick up the pace even more. They send their energy into the crowd.  We yell. We are all sister