CANDLES TO TEACUPS

   by Bates Corlieu

my dead mama sent me a message
when I asked her how she felt
now
or how, now, she reconciled her harbored
havoc with the wicked stepmother

she showed me, in a dream,
the trick of our earth eye
how what are clearly lit candles now
are really only cracked and empty teacups
once the scrim is up

and still the vision lingers
and still I see the room beyond
lies, shrouded under dust covers
blurring the relief of a summer cottage
as through a glass block wall, well lit