Well Wishing
by Michaela Davis
In another life,
we have already grown old together.
We are sitting in front of the TV
and my wrinkled hands have memorized
the shape of your jaw.
I think I could sculpt your face
out of mud and leaves
if my bones were not so tired.
Your calloused fingers reach out to hold my own.
This is something we have done time and time again;
an entire lifetime of cradling and soothing
overshadowed by how little time we have left.
Did I make you laugh often enough?
Could we go on one more drive tomorrow?
Pick me up and kiss me again.
Tell me that you think my hair is pretty,
that you like my uneven smile,
that you still remember that one time at the beach
however many decades ago.
I will buy you more flowers tomorrow,
sift your hair between my fingers,
write poems and letters
to slide under your door.
I will blur the lines between our youth and our present
with kisses and pictures and small talk.
We have spent our years like coins,
carelessly tossing them into pools of water.
We tried to drink from the fountain of youth,
but it was full of copper discs.
My hand in yours, our eyes find each other.
Weary and half lidded,
I watch the TV through the reflection in your eyes.
In another life,
I hope I die before you do.
by Michaela Davis
In another life,
we have already grown old together.
We are sitting in front of the TV
and my wrinkled hands have memorized
the shape of your jaw.
I think I could sculpt your face
out of mud and leaves
if my bones were not so tired.
Your calloused fingers reach out to hold my own.
This is something we have done time and time again;
an entire lifetime of cradling and soothing
overshadowed by how little time we have left.
Did I make you laugh often enough?
Could we go on one more drive tomorrow?
Pick me up and kiss me again.
Tell me that you think my hair is pretty,
that you like my uneven smile,
that you still remember that one time at the beach
however many decades ago.
I will buy you more flowers tomorrow,
sift your hair between my fingers,
write poems and letters
to slide under your door.
I will blur the lines between our youth and our present
with kisses and pictures and small talk.
We have spent our years like coins,
carelessly tossing them into pools of water.
We tried to drink from the fountain of youth,
but it was full of copper discs.
My hand in yours, our eyes find each other.
Weary and half lidded,
I watch the TV through the reflection in your eyes.
In another life,
I hope I die before you do.