Clear

I dropped the ice cube when you said it.

Didn't pick it up.

You kept talking. I watched it

on the laminate—

chalky-white at first, the kind of white

that's just trapped air.

By the time you got your keys

it had gone transparent at the edges.

I didn't say anything.

You left.

The cube spread to a scratch in the counter

and stopped there.

The water just pooled in the groove.

I stood there until it was a wet ring.

Then until it wasn't that either.

I don't know why I didn't pick it up.

I keep thinking about the scratch.