2080
We cried a lot. I cried a l ot. so I wrote a poem . -- I'm sitting in a park through one sun salutation the breath of the sky turns gray and mother Earth sighs. T he year is 2080 - and I don't recognize you. The bright oranges have dropped from the branches, decaying into the land. I firmly press my toes on the ground beneath my toes are rooted roots I sway, swaying slower while the green turns to brown turns to green. I invert, or the world is inverted? sweet smooth faces shrivel, and I touch the warm cheeks of a baby close to my heart. I crossword, the fraying fingertips of my reality hold words. inhale, exhale. the vast blueness gleams with sunshine. The three bridges remain tucked behind the achy Oak tree. we share the quality of old growth as its branches start to sag. People move faster, yet I find solace cuddled into the hills with the frequent company over tea but rest escapes me and I tire q