sometimes I am a melting icicle
or glacier; tiny slips drip dripping away,
cascading down cold-blooded cheeks.
I begin to shrink,
thawing into a puddle
of still water, unpotable.
a puddle absorbed into linen sheets
and carpeted floors, dispersed and dirty,
immobile. invisible.
sometimes it is so cold that the melting
stops I reach for brisk air and snow
flakes, stretching my wings gelidly.
but it never lasts long and
I begin to fall apart once more.
little by little, I chisel at my ice
with precision known only to woman;
until something snaps. and I crack
in two, three, dozens of me
scattered in melting cubes of ice.
strong impenetrable ice that could crush
the skulls of men and crumble mountains,
and yet I thaw at the slightest touch.
