For today’s prompt, write a future poem. The future is a never ending well of worry for some. Others harbor a great deal of optimism. Still others see a mixture of awesome flying cars and terrifying robot overlords. Regardless of your outlook, I hope there’s a poem in your very near future.
The Future Ain't What It Used to Be
These days, there is always a moment,
when my leg moves between warm sheets
or my hand slides under a cooler part
of the pillow
and my eyes open, before or after, I've thought:
Oh. We are in that time, ... this time.
and everything that happens next is newer
than it's ever been.
I build the floor, floorboard by floorboard,
to get to the bathroom. I roll out the carpet before me
to get to my kitchen. It is not a flying carpet.
It lays there as I step off its edge.
Every moment is stepped off of,
into another world that assembles itself,
just in time.
It is up to me to imagine the whole world
around my coffee pot.
To see its beauty.
To insist on its sense.
It is up to me
to make gratitude my food,
kindness my money.
To live on that
into a new day,
belly
and heart
and imagination
full.
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