The prompt for Day Ten of PAD is:
For today’s
prompt, write a future poem. The future might mean robots and computer chips.
The future might mean apocalyptic catastrophes. The future might mean peace and
understanding. The future might mean 1,000 years into the future; it might mean
tomorrow (or next month). I forecast several poems in the near future to be
shared below.
 |
| The Empty Chair Became Too Much for Me |
My Future without You
In the future,
this set of cherry-colored dishes
I now line each mortal meal with—the one that holds
us all together, our legs so close our knees knob
against each other (those hardwood legs, too),
we sometimes even joke about playing footsie—
in that future, those dishes will have lost their shine,
chips marking their tired edges, along with a crack or two,
invisible unless you look just the right way in the light.
In that future, I rush to sit, quickening my intake,
and then get back up from empty chairs I (try to) overlook,
giving anything to yell at you, “Clean your plate.”
Giving anything to see your hands
clearing those cherry-colored dishes.
I now line each mortal meal with—the one that holds
us all together, our legs so close our knees knob
against each other (those hardwood legs, too),
we sometimes even joke about playing footsie—
in that future, those dishes will have lost their shine,
chips marking their tired edges, along with a crack or two,
invisible unless you look just the right way in the light.
In that future, I rush to sit, quickening my intake,
and then get back up from empty chairs I (try to) overlook,
giving anything to yell at you, “Clean your plate.”
Giving anything to see your hands
clearing those cherry-colored dishes.
*****
No comments:
Post a Comment