[Photo by bhai rankar on Unsplash. Image description: In the foreground is a hand held up, facing the camera. In the palm of the hand is a small, bright green leaf. In the background is a gravelly, dark shore leading to a misty lake. In the distance are mountains.]

Tonic

By Daisy Roux

To think of the past is to think of the 

blurry remains of the future which entrances us

Photo by bhai rankar on Unsplash. Image description: In the foreground is a hand held up, facing the camera. In the palm of the hand is a small, bright green leaf. In the background is a gravelly, dark shore leading to a misty lake. In the distance are mountains.

in its desperate and fitful glory. 

To wish for the imagined could-have-beens, 

should-have-beens, is to count

the clouds between your fingers, 

and to count the stars you tried to name.

 

The present, although brutal and arguably 

banal in nature, offers overly ripe opportunities. 

Think of the swollen, weeping nectar 

you sucked from when you weaned yourself 

off the acrid bitterness of a life imagined,

and instead swallowed the glowing nebula 

of an emboldened future.

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