Brinicle

Six months beneath a white sky,
same walls, same frozen sea.
You counted days till we went home.
I stopped counting at three.

You showed me tickets on your phone,
said, “We’ll sleep for a week.”
I watched your face in the blue light.
There was nothing I could say.

Below us, under meters of ice,
something was reaching down.

You were talking about home
while the ice reached down.
Making plans for both of us
as it moved toward the ground.

You said, “We’re almost there.”
I couldn't make a sound.
I knew where this would end
before it touched the ground.

We lowered the camera through the ice.
You leaned against my arm.
On the screen, a frozen finger
grew slowly through the dark.

You said, “Look at that.”
I said, “I know.”
And hated what I meant.
Some endings take their time
long after they've begun.

Your suitcase was already packed.
Mine had a different tag.
You thought we'd leave together.
I knew we wouldn't.

You were talking about home
when the ice touched down.
Making plans for both of us
while I watched without a sound.

You said, “We made it through.”
I couldn't turn around.
You saw the end beneath the ice.
You didn't know it was ours.

Tomorrow we leave the station.
Just not for the same town.