The age that I am now
Twenty-four years ago,
When I was thirty-four,
I called upon
My future self,
Who is the age
That I am now.
Plump, jolly,
With a face unlined
By loss or sorrow,
She is nothing like
I am now.
We both wear a
Long braid draped
Down our back
But there, the similarity
Ends.
What did I lose
To become
Who I am now?
I lost weight,
The grounding rhythm of my monthly cycles,
A few jobs, a few houses–
None that weren’t replaced
By something better–
Many friends, not replaced,
A vast region,
That had been home.
I lost my dad
Or rather,
His earthly presence.
I lost my sense
Of an unchanging self
Exchanged for
Breath
A column of
Amber light
Flowing from
Crown to toe.
To shed one’s
Skin isn’t easy.
Where is the future self
That I was to become?
I don’t know
Which garden
She sits in
Wearing her
Calico skirt
Tending red nasturtiums
Not in this
Desert garden
With blue poppies
And lupin,
Where I stand,
Breathing,
In blue jeans
And a t-shirt.
The future brings
Loss
Too incalculable
To name.
I have no use for it.
But it will
Never come.
It will
Always be
Now.
And now,
I can withstand
Anything.
Daily Prompt: Write “a poem that addresses the future, answering the questions ‘What does y(our) future provide? What is your future state of mind? If you are a citizen of the “union” that is your body, what is your future “state of the union” address?’,” from the Na/GloPoWriMo site.
Cathy Tea's SimLit Anthology 