Will
Thought comes – little maybe,
little someday, like little door of light
I opened once in a sightless room
of darkest winter midnight, shoe black
smeared across sky’s every seam
until the door, dull metal knob
just visible, just ice to touch,
opened on a perfect rectangle of green
pines spread like butter along the edge
of blue lake, sun flapping his hands
everywhere, affable slap on my cheek.
Dream I had or sideways otherlife
I’d slipped into, remembered long later.
But that door. Too hard
to know now as the world
teems with layers, a childhood
it’s real lost to adult mind.
Will happy mean future self
will sit at red oak table with husband
2.0, shiny new upgrade with all the bugs
fixed. Like this one will remember
yellow freesia as my favorite,
will gentle, will play Grendel
with our future kids, will laugh
when he catches and pretends
to eat them, tickle-tummy style.
Will buy us house with library and sugar
maple yard, lawn gone back to wild
moss and tiny pink-flowered
weeds. Will roll eyes at chickadees,
insist I made them up, name too fantastic
for an ordinary bird in an ordinary
life. Will first arrive with fanfare
of verbs and nouns at my front door,
will wide-eye surprise,
will pump iron and take me
to tea, will read me, will shh shh
lover, will rapture me through.