2080

We cried a lot. 
I cried a lot.

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.

The 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 quickly. 

The beauty of a garden

tossed into a salad presents delight

however, the tastes taste different

flavors have faded - simple pleasures.

I decide to put on my walking shoes

we still hold hands when we venture

to the park, and I loosen my boots

to welcome the cool dirt on my feet.

Days come and go,

but I remember to open the

kitchen window to allow the smells,

all the smells, to drift into my life.

I recount all the babies caught

and all the parks I've sat in

while I close my eyes and

wonder about the passing of time.

I'm reading the last chapter,

I'm anxious to finish but postponing - 

placing the bookmark near the end

I lay my head for a nap.