Poetry

Cubed

Inside the neat black cube

lies a silver heart.

It has never felt the breath of air

that comes from an open box.

 

For all its years,

the metal is worn

only slightly;

if it were of flora,

then it would be as green

as the newest seedling

and have experienced

even less.

 

A sudden jolt

jars the black cube.

It falls from its perch

down

to the floor.

The heart doesn’t know

what to do.

Its world is changing.

The cube is broken;

air and light finally leak in.

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