2020

I will be thinking I did not raise my son to die
in a war waged for some personal agenda.

I will be thinking of a sister who can no longer cross
the chasm of Christian piety to talk to me.

I will be reading headlines of the Asian world domination
and a fifty thousand Dow.

I will weep for the suicide rate of Muslim women
in the post-oil-economy religious fundamentalism.

I will be experimenting with astroprojection.

I will be listening to radio speeches
by an Hispanic president
full of new solutions to the US famine while
looking over junkmail about Mars homesteads.

I will struggle with philanthropy and memories,
still missing my lover's face full of scars.

I will be too young
to be feeling this alone.

I will be assessing the performance
of a new breed of kayak that's taken me
twenty years to afford. I will be sitting, alone,
lightly on a green river, testing my salt,
swiveling my hips in a hula
through quiet currents.

I will be searching Latin markets
for natural textiles and things made of real wood.

I will be paying for all the personal technologies
that promise to usher me through an easier day
and growing mindful of my caffeine intake.

I will be lacking the brevity with which I once spoke
and regretting the diversity I once embraced, and
lamenting the Europe I'll never see.

I will be feeling young enough
to want to be this alone.


lilaplevy (c) august 1999