A thousand years ago I stood
on the passenger seat of your car,
head through the skylight, arms
high up in the darkness,
hands waving at the thick black
snake, curled in the road sleeping
as you swerved, your laughter
beating hard against silent
screaming in my chest
It is now, I said, and now is forever
When I was young I was older
A diaper in my purse,
milk for the baby, from chapped
aching breasts
dried in a crust around her mouth,
dripping onto the utility bill,
crumpled, in my pocket
Can we sleep yet? I asked
You were already sleeping,
wide awake with dreams
Now is forever, I said
(but didn’t say)
(just like everything else)
When decades slip through,
like light through shadows,
like a cry of silence,
a hollow, too full:
I know I am younger
This is a poem about three loves
yesterday, tomorrow, forever
I don’t want you to love me now
I want you to have loved me then
I don’t want you to love me forever
Only now
(now is forever)
