The box

Hilda Hurtado

Locked inside a box,
tied with ribbons bright,
the celebration breathes outside,
and my quiet heart barely stirs.

Beneath the tree, I hide myself.
The merrymaking does not name me.
Lights shimmer out of reach,
and the air tightens around me.

Outside, the world trembles:
cookies, laughter, light.

When this stillness finally opens,
will I be a gift—or a loss?