Britin Frazey

Walls of sharp silver flowers,

I was forever trapped within,

Loving dull petals, smooth on my skin.

But one day as I strode through the 

Palace, its familiar halls shattered.

Shards of glass, like daggers, hit my

Flesh. I fell to my knees, but soon,

A hand came to my shoulder.

“When a door slams or path

Crumbles, a window is to open!”

Wise older sister declared.

I tried to hide my urge 

To roll my crying eyes.

“They shut it right in my face!” 

The words felt false or foreign.

“Yes, but–” she began–

“No,” I cut in, “I see no windows–

Just pieces– what about you?” 

So she grabbed my bloody hand and

Led me through the rubble. There:

A giant golden door–bursting 

With light– my new favorite sight!

She held me as I knocked,

Then, away, my sister walked.

I pushed it open, and what

Did I see? Well– the future,

The world, the heart of it all,

The true reason I’d entered

That palace– even if it took me 

Away from the still-intact walls. 

So I crossed the threshold to the secret

Palace room. Stepped into the light, and 

Found these open, emerald meadows

With rolling hills and a babbling

Creek from which I’ll forever drink–

Making my home-camp beneath the

Cherry blossom trees. When my sister

Came to visit– she said “I told you! 

We always find better things!”

I smile as we watch the sun set–

Behind the harem of wild horses which I’d 

Tamed and ridden, and a fleeing quelea flock–

“Is it wrong that it sometimes still stings? 

All the scars from that day in that palace?

For– when they took out those girders,

They didn’t know the gold door would appear. 

Yet in the end, I’d have chosen no differently.

So tell me, sister– can both things be true?”

Now she smiles, too, as she looks at all I’ve 

Gained and built, and all I left behind. Then 

She says, “That, my dear, is up to you.”