The Looking Glass
I stared into a looking glass, beside my bedroom table;
The table held up, maple, but the looking glass was able-
To make me ponder things and kings, queens and all their garments-
To make me see beyond my dreams and into a glass enchantment.
It startled me to wake up to see the looking glass behaving-
This way on this day, in this odd way, not quite what I planning-
For on most days, and in most days, I was growing old and disabled-
But on this day, of all the days, it was a looking glass, not bowl nor table.
Pondering the sudden change, I had a spark of insight-
Of someone who told me years ago of bowls that change at night-
And not any night, no, it was really not too often-
For you too had to change on that night to make the colors soften.
The vision grew clearer of what he had said-
We were sitting at a table-
A bowl was placed between bread and space-
And fine flowers all dressed in red.
He said to me, upon this night, he really grew with wonder-
I asked him why, and his reply, was really like no other:
“Look at this bowl, these roses, these placemats and these chairs that stand before us-
Sure they’re there, but do they care, and can they tell we’re here, amidst them?”
“My father used to say to me: Look beyond the looking glass,”
I couldn’t quite reply-
It made no sense to me what he was conveying and saying,
And so I said goodbye.
Then I recalled more of the story, and more of what was said;
And the bowl had become a looking glass, placed on maple near my bed;
“When you look into the looking glass, it acts as though a mirror,
And when you look close enough, straight through the rough, your life becomes much clearer.”
And so I rose and walked outside-
To light, almost blinding;
Though I can’t say I will forget-
The Looking Glass that night, unwinding.