in the corner

that box

full of secrets

squats resentfully in the corner

glowering at passerbys

waiting for its turn to be mobile

and it wonders if its gnarled veneer

will ever be animated 

like her smile

and her laugh

and the way she whips her hair from her face

ponders whether anything will ever

touch

stroke

brush

the box

besides abandoned school papers

or the nonchalant tail of a cat

contemplates the possibility of feeling something

besides the crippling emptiness

that has become 

everything