ICE

I heard her parched and weary voice 

in the distance cry out for

ice, more ice

and immediately thought of 

the ice in Gabriel García Márquez’ first line 

of One Hundred Years of Solitude

and then thought of the peace 

that was coming her way

 like a solitude well-earned 

like a childhood re-discovered 

after a barrage of

one too many good-byes.