Tonight, at dinner with Sam, a sliver of ice from my water glass landed on my shirt. I didn't notice it for a few minutes, but when I looked down and saw it, it seemed so beautiful, like a perfect shiny necklace charm. I slipped it off and put it on the table, told Sam it looked like a crescent moon, or an arrowhead.
"Or a saber tooth," he said. He was right. It looked the most like a saber tooth.
The tooth melted quickly on the table top, and I helped it along by tapping it with my index finger, making small splashes. I kept splashing after it had dissolved, thinking of Rorschach's ink, of petroglyph humans dancing. When I stopped, I read the water spots like clouds: a praying seal, Queen Hatshepsut with extended arms, an angel with giant wings, Stonehenge lintels, and a series of music notes. I wished I'd known the tune.