mirrors up in smoke
Sophia Reich
maybe if i was French
i could light a cigarette
and let the smoke billow
as a phoenix rises
from the other end.
but instead
my steel ribcage recoils
like a gun’s
phantom limb and
my palm carves itself
into the wall’s flesh.
i feel the pulse of
an egg yolk
as it separates
into a pool of yellow
marmalade.
the inhale of
cigarette smoke
brings forth
visions of crystal balls
and walking cartoons
and half-dead horses.
hooves
graze the nape of my neck
like the spokes of
a twisted umbrella
as i trace angels
into the frosted glass.
these visions pass with time—
and so i sit in
the windowless chair
praying to hear
the chime of a clock
only to hear
the blare of a fire alarm
in a room of mirrors.
Sophia Reich is a Rutgers Honors College student from High Bridge, New Jersey. She intends on majoring in Cell Biology and Neuroscience with a minor in Art History. Her interest in writing stems from her interest in the intersection of visual art forms and literature.
Sophia wrote this poem in a creative writing class taught by Professor Joanna Furhman. Furhman selected the piece for inclusion in WHR.