MARGARET GIBSON

Like Ice

What is it about some people?

As I’m leaving his house after a convivial visit, my host, an old friend,
           stares at his shoes

and mutters,“I can’t see much good ahead.”

Is he Cassandra? Or yesterday’s news?  Does he mean to be saying
           he’ll help out?  Or opt out?

“There’s always good,” I reply, meaning the sooner the better—
           however one defines

or embodies the Sublime, it would be better if it arrived pronto.

Before David, intent on a mission he’s forgotten, wanders off into the woods.

Before he shivers to see daylight wane and an undefined darkness slur
           along the window glass.

Before I’m so glad means I just do as I’m told.

“You think you have it bad,” another friend quipped, too quickly, then
           pulled herself up short—

“and you do.” I don’t recall what she said next. With practice, one can

simply watch as an agony, like ice in warm liquid, dissolves without
           altering the level in the glass.