Reflection

— Pushpa MacFarlane

How can I believe, the mirror doesn’t lie?
It stands there—still, quiet,
as the slow trail of light seeps in
through the window. Dust pixies clamber
in throngs of confusion, barely knowing
which direction they must move.

It is not the light from heaven,
as I believed as a child—the path
a heavenly saint would take
when it came down to touch
our shoulder to say, “child—
it is time to leave.”
To where? Heaven, or Hell?
A most frightful proposition!

I worried my head when I learned
about mortal sin and venial sin
at the convent. Our Bible study book
lay open on page one the entire term
as Mother Superior had not read
beyond “The Word,” but talked
and talked. I couldn’t tell how much time
had passed since the class began,
or what time it was, when I saw
the reflection of the clock in the mirror.

How can I believe the mirror,
when it cannot tell the correct time?

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