Tonight's Poet Corner: Yet To Come
Yet To Come
by Belinda Roddie
Here's how I wound up dating
the Ghost of Christmas Past: she took me
to a twenty-four hour diner, where they
served pancakes on top of biscuits
and gravy, and she told me all about
her childhood, her favorite coffee memories,
her embarrassing escapades and her
sweet cream-filled romances under moonlight.
She never pondered on the future. Never
made plans for any tomorrows. Yet somehow,
I managed to show up at her doorstep every
night, whisked under cold sheets and an eiderdown
comforter, kissed until I had dreams about former
affairs and lovers, stopped pretending there was
destiny I could forge out of iron. I decided
that my goals had already rusted over, my
anxieties not worth the energy. Why fret
when here, in a bedroom built out of
recollections, everything was soft and cushioned
and quite prone to mental suffocation?
by Belinda Roddie
Here's how I wound up dating
the Ghost of Christmas Past: she took me
to a twenty-four hour diner, where they
served pancakes on top of biscuits
and gravy, and she told me all about
her childhood, her favorite coffee memories,
her embarrassing escapades and her
sweet cream-filled romances under moonlight.
She never pondered on the future. Never
made plans for any tomorrows. Yet somehow,
I managed to show up at her doorstep every
night, whisked under cold sheets and an eiderdown
comforter, kissed until I had dreams about former
affairs and lovers, stopped pretending there was
destiny I could forge out of iron. I decided
that my goals had already rusted over, my
anxieties not worth the energy. Why fret
when here, in a bedroom built out of
recollections, everything was soft and cushioned
and quite prone to mental suffocation?
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