ice cubes

i refill the ice cube trays 
& stand in the kitchen waiting.
it takes so long to become a solid
object-- i open the freezer again 
to dip my toes in the cold water--
each cube the size of me-- each little
division another pool deep enough
to fall into. i take to pacing 
the dividers like the train tracks
threaded through town. the station
is on williams avenue & the street
is hot with asphalt & 
the beam banging birth of 
a new building. the construction
workers are too big to fit into 
the spaces of the ice cube tray,
they stumble occasionally into 
the house to try & i warn them 
that it's rare that someone else fits.
they want to cool off. we all want
to cool off. i chew ice & pretend
i'm eating stones off the driveway
or maybe hunks of sidewalk in winter.
dad pulls open the freezer door &
grumbles about the empty trays 
again-- filling them with tap water.
the frozen peas are so many planets.
there's a bag of mangoes from last year.
if i tuck my knees into my chest i
can be fully submerged. i hold my breath 
& teach myself patience by watching 
the first layer of ice form-- a pane of
glass to look out of. house next to
house next to house-- the ice cube
tray of all of grant avenue. when dad
comes home from work this time
he'll find all three trays full--
he'll crack me free & i'll bob 
in his tall glass of diet coke-- 
the bubbles floating me to the top. 
outside the construction workers 
chew ice on their breaks-- peer in
the living room windows-- their mouths
bloody from the shards of glass. 
i pull the blinds shut. wait for 
the cold to make everything still &
quiet. i lay down-- a piece of
me in each divider. it takes skill
to freeze yourself in segments--
like the dead cow in my parent's 
chest freeze. i want to un-thaw 
slowly then. hand by hand. rib by
rib by iris. don't resemble me.