Memoir to Myself

Dear future self-


google said this would help

it’s not like I’ve got the virus


I’d like to say

but it probably 

wouldn’t matter-

I left the house today

I forgot my mask

turning back,

past immortal crunches

of fallen leaves,

shed by naked trees

Or were they just memories

from months ago?

I, too, am wilted dry

from my cell inside 

of endless light

where I spend every night

(not that I want sleep,

every dream I have ends with defeat)

where I sit and watch

granular visions of a hundred days

where I lie and hear

the same cracked sparrow song

projected on my white walls.

Dear future self-

I don’t know what you expect.

My instagram feed is 

so monotonous  

selfies on snapchat of

socially distanced picnics

Oh, did I tell you there was another update?

Eyes adjust to shifting squares

like we sank, no, slid

into a global pandemic

coffee cups

in rainbow mugs

I just want a hug.

Empty outsides when the course clouds rain

on my window pane

I watch from glass.

all I did today

was watch dark clouds disintegrate. 

I felt the water

circle down the drain.

Swipe up. Refresh.

Sipping cider in the park

and dancing in unsettled dust. Again.

Focus on myself, Google said-

workout brings endorphins, but

first I need to get out of bed.

Stop living in my head

Dear future self-

Is this animation

what I leave,

under fallen leaves

as a time capsule?

At least then, it has a chance to survive.  


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