The Ice In My Hands

I made the choice to pick it up and watch it melt away.

Photo by Agnieszka Bednarz on Unsplash

Melt away
in my bare hands. The heat
is too much for your plea.

And in one second—for once—
I’m cool—not too cold for the untold
warmth that nourishes my body.

Ache succeeds relief—
shivers through my skin, until the grief
stabs me from within.

Drips turn to a puddle,
and now—grateful—I muddle
through the tearful mess I made.

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A.X. Bates

A.X. Bates

Words can make a difference. Theatre student writing poems about life, society, and coffee. @axybates on Instagram and Twitter.