Poetry- Dear Future Me by Sarah Frank

Dear future Sarah,

I hope you’re sitting on a soft grey couch

with a sesame bagel

and earl grey tea.

I hope you have a nice home

with a patio,

maybe a balcony.

I hope you have a pool,

two dogs,

maybe a child on the way.

I hope you’ve gotten to write stories

with everything you’ve wanted to say.

I hope if you felt uninspired,

your fire was relit

and I hope you studied writing

at a college that really fit.

As I’m writing this to you,

it’s the second of September

in the middle of a pandemic

I am sure that you remember.

I’m sure that you remember

choking back the tears

watching headlines fly

and cases rise,

confirming our worst fears.

I’m sure that you remember

what it was like to be alone,

connected to everyone and everything

by the vibrations of a phone.

I’m sure that you remember

retreating with hesitation,

not knowing when you’d be back in the world,

trying to numb the ache of isolation.

I’m sure that you remember

not realizing what it took

to evaluate your own life

and alter your outlook.

I didn’t realize I’d been living life

by what society demanded:

doing everything for others

then myself

and taking all of it for granted.

It all feels like a universal joke,

a horrible cosmic ploy,

one that forced me to reassess

what makes me happy

and brings me joy.

The pandemic has made me reflect

more than I ever would

so future Sarah,

I hope you are loved,

I hope you are happy,

and I hope that life is good.