by Bruce McRae
The mirror shattered.
The mirror opened its door.
I saw the winter wind
in a city of flowers.
I saw a blind man shaving.
I saw the dying Gaul
and ghosts of tomorrow.
Looking into my eyes.
Eyes like an Iron Age mine.
Like a well without water.
Like pissholes in the snow.
And I saw a needle in a basket.
Grandmothers weeping milk.
The hip socket of an iguanodon
And you, in all youth’s splendor.
How the rooms went quiet
and heads would spin.
Before the hour put its scalpel in
and turned like a key.
I saw, and finally understood —
we fear the wrong things.
[Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with over 1,400 poems published internationally in magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press); An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy (Cawing Crow Press), Like As If (Pski’s Porch), Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).]
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