2003: Sitting on laminate benches
trading gushers for gummy bears
I declared, “I’m going to live
for another one hundred years.”
You claimed one hundred and one;
You always did need to be
better than me, but neither of us
could picture life in 2103.
2007: It’s neither the sticks nor the stones
I fear, but words with teeth that tear
at who you thought you could be.
I started to doubt 2103.
2013: I know the sound of shadows
as they whisper my name; the shape
of knives that glint beneath moonlight.
I tried not to think about 2103.
2016: Memories claw at locked
hearts; the world grows darker
as you take your last breath.
I swore not to make it to 2103.
2020: Sirens become my lullabies
as I memorize the smell of hospital
beds. Everything breaks; everyone too.
There may never be a 2103.
2022: The dry earth cracks as the forest
burns, but the bluebird still sings
and in its croon I hear the call
of a tomorrow drawing ever near.
Perhaps a hundred years isn’t so great.
Perhaps all that matters is how you use today.
I’m tired of waiting for 2103.