my grandmother would always ask for everything with ice in it whenever she wanted a drink.
as we talked, she’d shake the glass back and forth to hear it clink,
it sounded like chattering teeth to me,
she said she was doing it just till it was cold enough to drink,
but then she’d end up leaving things on the windowsill when she got up for bed.
cups of lukewarm milk, stale glasses of water, and her favorite tacitos de cafe.
all left like pots that collect water from leaky roofs.
except these were all filled with thoughts.