Through the Looking Glass
The city hung upside down,
an almost perfect copy,
unblemished by any movement
on the water that set a glaze upon
the morning. Later, I saw ferns
and a red bromelia caught
in the still of a backyard pond
and in the clearest counterfeit
of all, me passing across a mirror
in a florist's window before
disappearing somewhere
beyond its gilded frame.
As a child, head stuck
halfway through the looking glass
of a book, I longed to push
through into that reflected world.
It was there, I thought, I existed
in counterpoint, having all
that troubled me reversed
into the opposite.
My real home was
on the other side, not here,
crossing a boundary
that should never have been
crossed, fallen through a crack
in a dream, lost,
with no way back.
Note.
Title taken from Lewis Carroll's
" Through the Looking Glass "
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