From “The Lullabies Your Mom Didn’t Write for You”
I think I saw my future walk by in a dream.
It rustled through my mind before I could catch it
As elusive as something beautiful passing just outside my window.
I wrestle with the window latch
Try and take a photograph
Keep its colors in my eyes for as long as I can
So I can identify its location, if only I had a map.
But it’s wintertime in this room I’m in
The windowpane has long been frozen
And the pulchritudinous future disappears within
The cloud of my breath turning to ice on the glass.
I know it has long been warm outside.
I know that this month is really July.
I know I could wake up; leave my room’s confines
Find the future and demand that it speaks its mind
Learn what will happen once I cross the divide
Of space and time holding me captive in their deathless binds.
But for now I’m stuck in a winter dream.
The flitter of my future has since crossed the street
With no summery answers as to if/what it will be.
And I’m wrapped up in blankets. I’m still trying to sleep.
Can you see me?
Can you dream me?
Can your vision shape me into a human being?
If I make it to the future, can I call myself free?
Will it turn me into something as beautiful as
That rapidly walking future being?
Maybe foggy glass future dreams
Which erase their grace once you reach morning
Are the worst nightmare you could never wake up from.
© Chapin Langenheim, 2020