Remembering the Future

 

The authors of my dream

took me to this placeless place,

and told me you were nearby.

I was still surprised,

 

when, on my way to snatch

some Parisian sun for my roughened eyes

I came upon you reading

a tall book in a taller chair.

 

“Tasha. Darling,” you said,

as if our warmth were as real

as the wood beneath our feet

or the windowpanes. I was saddened,

 

for a moment, to learn

that your blue gaze no longer

burns with the riddle

of my incompleteness.

 

Your voice has deepened, and I wanted

so badly to tell you

that you have found your power;

your yoga teacher would be proud.

 

Your father called us to the kitchen

and knowing that you wished to preserve

your repose, I asked you

qu’est-ce que vous voudrais?

 

You chose the uncomplicated poetry

of rambole fumé

on crusty bread.

Finally, after all this waiting,

 

the smallness of my gift

was enough.

 

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Assistant Editor: Holly Horne/Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Martinak15, Flickr