planning for the future

C always says we can't decide the future,

but we can plan for it

& right now that means

a lot of Big things,

a lot of Confusing things.

and I'll get around to that—

not today, because it's almost over—

but for now, I'm going to make small plans:

everyday blessings.

I'll plant a patch for a cut-flower garden,

tend them carefully and watch them grow

& when they bloom I'll have a bouquet on my bookshelf,

and lay bunches of them on friends' porches.

when I finish each book I read,

I'll write myself a letter of what I thought,

full of my favorite quotes & unanswered questions,

and tuck it in the flap of the dust jacket

or fold it into the middle of the paperback:

time capsules with unknown expiration dates.

every day I'll try to go outside

& just sit there and observe everything

quietly & without expectation.

I'll take a Polaroid each time

but won't look at them once they've developed.

they'll go in envelopes with labels like

"May 14 was beautiful and smelled like lilacs"

(even if the picture is blurry and not of lilacs)

or

"on June 1 I felt like a black hole"

and I'll only open the envelopes when I need them

& be surprised by each image (I hope).

on Saturday I'll reorganize my closet

and hide a twenty in the pocket of my favorite dress,

a rock in the pocket of my favorite jeans,

and a postcard to a friend in the oversized pocket of my jacket

written & stamped and ready to go the next time I wear it.

it'll arrive much later than when it was written

& we'll pretend it was a message in a bottle.

before the johnny-jump-ups wilt,

I'll pick a handful to press

between the pages of whatever book I won't read for a while,

so when I do get around to it,

there'll be sweet, friendly blossoms to greet me,

ready to be moved to a card and envelope

& travel by mail to all my long-distance friends:

time and space travel.