Life in a Cubicle by Phoenix
She rests her head, so heavy, so wearied on her fist
looking at her screen or way beyond the words
she tries to translate, or should she translate the signs–
That paper copy as plan B when too long have the eyes
been fixed on ink-less words till no longer the eyes could see
a little bit of substance– a tangible meaning for today,
and a tomorrow that’s already seen as yesterday.
Her graceful fingers touch upon the paper like the wind
stripping an old tree from its dying leaves,
yet to shine again, there is still ahead a long winter
and words like splinters cut through all her senses
and the vestiges left from her femininity– not there today–
her hair held up like an uprising, revolting against nobody,
setting out to go nowhere. Yet, a pencil striking through
all that serenity, amidst a revolution where a hair is fighting a hair,
that long neck appears like a trunk that could carry the world
contracted in a cubicle– a cell soon to be called home–
all the seasons drop on her like fruits so tropical,
and waves of heat and cold bury her twenty-ish body old–
she keeps fluttering and covering herself up, yet
the weather is way deeper in her heart– it’s the same hot and cold
the so-called clouds are but a mere veil to a heart
dry thirsty to some heavy rain to quench a desert–
and some little tiny flowers can grow on her lawn again.
She decides to go– all is planned ahead
wishing that water dispenser could drip into her cup
like a patient’s serum she could count them drop by drop–
she returns triumphant, but barely a minute or two have passed;
positive– my girl so smiles and re-sits on her chair planning
for the next big event when she could rid of what she got–
like life, all goes from spot to spot– no spot is filled
until another’s abandoned– like hearts with so many dwelling
and one place of honor, and thrones are pushed aside everywhere–
all life in a moment so fathomed like water splashing into your face,
so sudden, so refreshing– you’ve been cautious away from the shore,
yet you don’t mind getting wet, bringing down your sand castle–
tomorrow’s another day; you could always re-build it anew.
Perhaps, the girl’s not doing all or any of that;
Perhaps, it’s just me, so living in a cubicle, seeing all that
so dying in a cubicle imagining all that–
amusing myself with a new story to get by another day.
Beyond the Walls: The Trapped Spirit in “Life in a Cubicle”
Phoenix’s “Life in a Cubicle” paints a vivid and unsettling picture of a woman’s struggle within the confines of a sterile office workspace. The poem transcends a mere description; it becomes a powerful metaphor for the crushing monotony, suppressed desires, and the search for meaning that many of us experience in the modern workplace.
The Weight of Monotony
The poem’s opening lines immediately set the tone: “She rests her head, so heavy, so wearied on her fist.” This image suggests a crushing weight, both physical and emotional. The repetitive tasks, symbolized by the “ink-less words”, drain her spirit. The distinction between “today” and “tomorrow that’s already seen as yesterday” highlights the soul-crushing sameness of her existence.
Longing and Resilience
Despite the bleakness, there are glimmers of longing and defiance. Her fingers touching the paper “like the wind stripping an old tree” hints at a desire for renewal, a shedding of the old. Her rebellious hair becomes a symbol of her inner turmoil. She covers herself in fluctuating “heat and cold,” suggesting not only the physical discomfort of the office environment but also a deeper internal conflict.
The image of a desert heart waiting for rain reflects a profound yearning for vitality and purpose. Even amidst the drudgery, we see moments of miniature triumph (“she returns triumphant”) and a flicker of resilience in planning her escape.
The Narrator’s Connection
The poem’s ending takes a fascinating turn. The narrator wonders if, perhaps, it is they who project this struggle onto the girl in the cubicle. This twist highlights the universality of these themes. The confined space of the cubicle becomes a stand-in for the existential limitations and unfulfilled desires we all grapple with from time to time.
Conclusion
Phoenix’s “Life in a Cubicle” forces us to confront the dehumanizing potential of modern work environments. It’s a testament to the enduring struggle between the longing for fulfillment and the daily grind. Yet, it also leaves us with a powerful reminder: there’s always the potential to rebuild our “sand castles,” to find fresh meaning even within the most confining circumstances.
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