Tomorrow
I’m trying
not to think of tomorrow—
where reality lives,
where being an adult
requires staring straight at it
without flinching,
without protest.
The offer came gently,
without warning.
It rested there
in the middle of things,
expecting to be observed,
handled,
then embraced
for the need it truly was.
It lay within
a familiar realm of expertise,
dressed casually,
without pretense,
lingering,
dangling—
if you will—
a bauble twirling
just within reach.
Yet the pause,
the chasm
between now
and tomorrow,
wears an unmistakable coat—
threadbare,
clinging:
dread.
Weighing heavy
inside the delight,
the pause
tightens,
holding desire at bay.
Tethered
to another encumbrance
hiding behind handshakes
that never feel quite warm,
hollow smiles
spitting
the beguiling skit:
here, we are family.
Then,
over trickling moments,
tested beyond limits,
the smile’s upward curve
bends under gravity,
flattened
beneath the steady pounding—
hammered out
at the forge.
Let me leave tomorrow
where it belongs,
protected
inside the unknown.
Let me play with today,
light-footed,
unburdened,
hours rolling forward
carefree—
