I'm back at the internet cafe. My time is running out. A bagel bought me two hours. And this poem needed a lot of editing. It's the third in the Letter to Me series. It may or may not need informing from the others. Not sure. Hard to separate sometimes.
A buck just walked down the sidewalk near the cafe. Crazy. This place is wild. I'm going to ride my pet bear home now. I'll put up some pictures tomorrow. The internet is just so slow I can't tell whether or not it can handle it. Lates.
Letter #3: Change
To an Older Me,
Even as I write this, I can feel the future you
pulling away, deciding to be.
There’s a smile in me I’m trying out,
a world be damned sort of grin.
I see it in the mirror some mornings,
sneaking out, giving me an almost handsome tilt.
Don’t laugh.
By now, you have sold my skin.
Your fingers look like strangers.
My face on you is stretched into something new,
even carefree. I feel it coming.
Two days ago, I biked down Milham Road
and ran into one of three Jessicas from class.
And she waylaid me, joked with me, frightened me
into hours of pointless forgetfulness.
I never got one broody word written.
I said don’t laugh.
If my pen cannot be a spear, what is it?
If I am not me in the future, who are you?
This is only vision I’ve had of us:
propped near some lake, clear as dreams,
mountains around, loons and deer,
a waterfall fogs a white noise through the air.
In our hands, a journal and pen.
Beauty surrounding, we’re still looking at paper.
Your face is young and uncreased by living ,
your eyes are still grey but steel now,
absent of heat, more like a door shut.
I am not gone. Just locked away.
I get why we became you.
Forgiveness is not easy, it’s just lighter.
Still,
You
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