In The Mind Of An Ice Cube
Faces: 6. Edges: 12.
That's me. I sit in a tray inside a cold box but I have dreams. To go places and do things. Melt into a puddle. Join the sea. Dissolve salt. Hitch a ride on a current to the North. Become an iceberg like the one that sunk the indestructible ship.
But first things first.
Ice Tray Mom birthed me with eleven identical others. We grew up listening to stories about the big bright world of spheres, shapeless blobs, waves, and ripples. About the father of all cubes that sunk the indestructible ship. Did I mention this already?
Because we cube-kids are trapped in a tray of 6 by 2’s, we miss out on life experiences like dripping, splashing, overflowing then solidifying again.
But I know a day will come when I’ll leave the dark box behind — be popped in a fresh drink.
This morning, I woke to a blinding light and sat with my bros on the countertop. I waited to be plucked from the tray and hit the bottom of a glass with a clink. For a bro to be dropped on my head and join me in a dance with a slice of lemon in the amniotic nebula, crackin’, and p0ppin’, escaping solid state.
But I’m 1/2 less now since I first spoke with no glass in sight.
My dry frozen side floats, and my smooth slippery side sinks, forcing the bow of my dry side to rise up, then sink into slush with great loss of life.
Soon we shall join the River Afterlife to become a cloud…?
Ah oh, we’ve been put back — back in the dark box.
To re-shape our perfect corners.
Listen to Mom’s stories all over again.
