Melt” - Laurel Kruger

Melt Laurel Kruger ‘22

7KLVLVDERQÀUHIRUWKHGHDGDQGIRUWKHXQGHDGWRR For those who watched their lives crack and groan and crash into the sea :KRZDWFKHGWKHLUOLYHVZDVKDZD\LQDÁDVKRIOLJKWDQHJDtive held up to the sun which had to be ruined in order to be seen Who died like a photograph of a long-gone summer, golden and frozen and slipped between the pages of a lost book Who died like spoiled food, disposed-of and forgotten Who died like termites upon fumigation Who died like czars, stiffened bodies adored by the masses Who died like wet cardboard Who died like seasons Who died like once-great glaciers Who watched those glaciers melt.

Those who live in glass houses should throw no stones, but those who live in ice should all be pyromaniacs. Why not? Our ice houses are already destined for far-away rivers anyway The wolves may threaten to blow your house in And they could, with persistence But wolves never have that kind of patience, to melt those ice walls so gradually with their breaths After a while, they will disappear into the woods Leaving you and your sinking castle behind

40 7KLVLVDERQÀUHIRUWKRVHZROYHV Who tried their bests, for a little while

7KLVLVDERQÀUHIRUDOOWKHOLWHUDWXUHWKDWRIIHQGVXV For lies and slander And for truth, too Throw it all on And bring out the bellows For in the end, everything either burns or melts anyway

7KLVLVDERQÀUHLQPHPRULDPRIWKHJODFLHUWKDWRQFHVWRRG on this spot, where the tourists swarmed and trod and took pictures whose negatives were then burned away by sweet sunlight In memoriam of the iceberg that once sunk the Titanic and which is now just a spot of calm sea In memoriam of our cathedrals and palaces of ice, where now stands large puddles wheremosquitos breed

I sit writing this with a new pen. I habitually chew on my writing utensils when anxious, but this one is so new that it is not yet bite-marked with all my fears.

41 $QG,ORRNDWWKHERQÀUHEHIRUHPH $QGDGGDQRWKHUSLHFHRIÀUHZRRG 7KLVRQHFRDWHGZLWKYDUQLVKZKLFKPDNHVWKHÀUHFUDFNOHDQG spark and release toxins into the atmosphere. And the water running off my melting walls mingles with the ash Until my feet are deep in black sludge Until my eyes water from smoke Until my house is gone And until my pen is dented between my molars.