I stare at the ice cubes in the bowl
they look cold and slippery.
my mind drifts
the Eskimos give their old folks a candy bar
and send them out on an ice cube to die.
I wish I could do that to her
she who froze my heart
and taught me to hate.
I see tiny bubbles of air in the cubes
polite words trapped in trivial conversations.
the ice cubes are melting
measuring time by their slow death.
I touch them with my finger
it burns--paradox--then it turns numb.
I wish she would kiss my finger
make it warm again
to the temperature of love.
I want her back
but it is too late.
there is only a puddle
and a memory.