Yesteryear Fiction

The Mirror
By Zenn Wu


In my hands, I hold a mirror
A portal to another now,
Another when.
Perched on the edge of nowhere,
There are still-frames of a family,
Of children and of lovers
Staring, touching, smiling, hugging
Warmth and safety leak from the glass,
Play golden and sweet in the cold, wet air
Of the night.

Some forgotten part of my mind
Knows exactly what to do
Knows the words to say,
The actions to take.
My hands tense.
Let the future come now.

“Okay.” I breathe,
And I hold the breath in the stillness.
I lick my lips, whisper the words
“I am ready.”

In a flash, the mirror cracks,
Shatters long, side to side.
In a rolling wave of light, it shifts
melts
changes
And then in my palm
There is only a mirrored key.
Out of the haze, a door rises like an obelisk,
A door to nowhere, to everything.
The key fits snugly in the lock
Turns easily, opens the way
To a golden time, a golden now
Lit with children’s laughter,
The happy sounds
Of love and joy.


- - -
You do not have to know the Buddha to know Zenn.