by Kate Beck
This future is a porch. It doesn’t have a
swing on it, but I do pull a chair out from
inside and sit in bits of sun, eating
sandwiches while wearing my winter coat.
My face is folded paper, and my toenails are
still round. Sometimes I’m far away from the
porch, and I dance because my knees are
fine. We have so many average photos and
pieces of our thoughts and memories glued
onto our homes and ourselves. We are
close, and we let each other go. It rains and
snows, and we are still surprised. We know
which stories to believe and which to enjoy.
We worry, but not anything like we used to.
Kate Beck spends most of each day sending emails and sleeping and talking to strangers and lovers and finding food and making food and eating food and walking around and driving and taking the bus and sometimes biking from place to place. In between these activities, Kate spends time noticing things and sometimes recording them.
Kate’s poem “It’s the Ninth Panic Attack this Week and We’ve Tried Everything to Stop It from Coming and it’s Sunday” was featured in Winter Solstice Issue: Without Pause.