The Box

She stares at her reflection now in the mirror.
It’s so different than what it was…
has it already been almost three years?
Slowly her eyes caress what used to be her face in a photo adjacent to the mirror.
Now, the rugged reflection sitting in front of her
shows only bulges and dripping eyeliner.
Frigid, wiry hair stands stubbornly erect,
ignoring any rules of gravity.
Her withered hand nears her face
as a steaming cigarette is enveloped by two white, crunchy lips.
She inhales the smoke from that cigarette as if it were her last breath.
Again, her eyes graze the reflection spitefully as her expression hollows.
Times were easier back then.
Even the most severe fights in the photograph seem serene in this atmosphere.
She remembers the smell of moist dew on the grass in the mornings
and the cool breeze from the thunderous nightfall
wafting its way through the screen.
Now, the smell that infests her nose is a stagnant,
torpid stench of cigarettes and spilt whisky.
Even the air suffocates in here,
wrapping itself around this square box of a room.
Cars pass outside her box.
Her eyes veer from the mirror to the glass
as she allows a brief thought of curiosity to escape her mind.
Where were they all going?
She got up from her knees,
forcing her eyes to stay away from watching her body rise in the mirror.
She already knew what they would see.
The cigarette smoldered the pockets of air as she walked.
She neared the cracking door like a spirit to their grave:
hesitance overwhelmed her.
She knew who would be on the other end once the splitting wood panel was creaked open.
Even so,
the malicious cigarette was dropped to the floor and suffocated by a heel,
and she curled her fingers around the cold, brass handle.
Every twitch in her body became apparent.
The doorknob became harder and harder to turn
with each raspy breath that escaped her lungs.
She knew who would be on the other end.
The wailing hinges seemed to reflect her sorrow at whose eyes would be meeting hers.
She looked up from her box,
smoke fled the room like citizens from a fire,
and in an instant her lips creased into what seemed to be a smile.
She outstretched her palm,
exposing her unusually hairy arm,
and walked out of the box,
one step at a time.