The first time I time traveled
to the fall of 2018 in my mind
was when your father whispered,
“Look around. Any one of these
could be future family.”
I saw you, with your grandfather’s smile
on your young brown skinned face,
putting down your video games with an ease
you never showed when your father or I asked
to follow a smiling face to adventures unknown.
I traveled again, to the fall of 1990,
when I smiled at your father. We didn’t know
about the spring of 1995. “Just friends,” was what we said.
After all, I was dating someone else,
and if your father(‘s family) had ever time traveled,
he (they) had never seen someone like me
standing under a canopy next to him in the future.
My family was equally surprised.
My heart got broken and mended,
just as yours probably will.
Then I time traveled again, to fall 1999
when I vowed to keep you safe, knowing
there’s only so much a mother can do,
even if she plays video games, watches Pokemon,
and makes time to talk about the small things
to make it easier to talk about the big ones.
I know in the fall of 2018, I will crack jokes.
I’ll be the laid back mom you leaned on
through every big change that came before.
We got through everything as long as we could
laugh about it, even if we cried a little too.
I’ll cry a little in 2018. But I’ll show you
this poem in the winter of 2019, once you’ve settled in.
We’ll joke, “Dear gods! What will we do
in the fall of 2021?” while having your favorite dinner.
Hopefully the taste of rosemary will remind me
to enjoy that moment, and let the future take care of
itself.
