the mug of tea grows cold in her hands
as she stares absently at the wall before her.
She thinks of a life long past,
A time when ignorance was a crutch.
Her hair is shorter now than it was back then,
Her skin is no longer smooth, and hasn’t been
for many months.
In her head, she ticks off flaws like a mantra
She wonders if it’s a reflection of her inner-self,
If maybe the disease in her soul has finally surfaced
to plague whatever beauty she still possesses.
A deep sigh leaves her lips,
She takes a sip of tea.
The room is quiet,
The wall is blank.
She shakes her head, freeing herself
from the grip of her thoughts.
Loneliness is hypnotic, she thinks,
And sets the mug on the table,
Harder than is necessary,
The tea splashes out of the mug,
and falls to the white surface.
As she walks away, ignorant again,
The tea begins to stain.
Nesha Usmani
a foot on the threshold 