the soft

the ice

i drilled ten feet deep 

through sheets of ice

and came back burned 

and tanned

my skin was peeling off

like ashes and embers 

drooping in eye bags 

your makeup was flaking 

off like ten-year-old paint 

on the fence of our house

i once would dance by

(i remember that girl,

embers underneath her feet

sunscreen sloppy, eyes happy) 

our hands that used to hold dolls

and games and sunshine grins

now hold guns and axes and cries

the lift of a lip a flick of a tongue

a twist of a wrist and another soul

disappearing

"one more swing! one more step!" was the

call, as if there were anything to find

beneath the ice

when there is nothing

to find behind the ribs that are caving in

with winter frost 

for the cold is chewing away

at our bones 

i am flaking away like 

the axe handle or the person's corpse

killed by the lift of lips, ice her new lipstick 

or i am crumbling away like the mirror

in my house where i saw a girl who i 

no longer understand

it falls away like the doll yarns we 

once played with or the friendship

bracelet that lost its threads

i will disappear into the cold air

soon. the cold has become my

bones. 

the drill i hold against the ice 

it has crumbled away like my nails

blackening like coal and collapsing into

the snow breeze. they scrape against

the ice in vain, crimson blooming reflecting.

my hands they dissipate like my breath and

voice and warmth. the scream continues

to keep digging, dig deeper, 

but i no longer lift my head. 

when i am all but gone 

and have become cold gnawing at bones

i see i have only scraped the surface

i see the promise circling underneath

the ice like ice skates twirling on glass.

i see the girl in the mirror and she is

cold and plays no more pretend. 

the girl is frozen and under her body

ashes chase her bones, 

chase the girl who once had

embers painting her soles.