Afterward

Belle Randall

My evenings are recurring dreams
Of winding stairs and narrow halls at dusk.
I journey toward my separate doorway. Strings
Of darkly gleaming bits of glass

Hang twirling slowly in the gloom
As sprays of colored light go drifting like
The universe across
The secrets of my single room.

I step inside, and for a time
It is-like Genesis! Transparent clouds
Of emerald, rose, and amber sift
And tumble past the papered walls

A closet door, a blue-white mirror.
Then gradually each slowly turning blur
Grows steady and resolves itself
Into a single, gleaming star-

My eyes adjust; I am aware
Of myself, an empty room, an oval mirror,
The silence and one hundred one
Different ways of playing solitaire.