It’s 2 years before you birth your 1st child,
17 years before your 1st mammogram,
25 years before your 1st hot flash,
27 years before the students you’re teaching turn 50,
30 years before you’re a mother of the bride,
& you are living
in a loft apartment across the street from the Buckland Hills Mall.
You smoke Virginia Slims in your Volvo on the ride home from Gold’s Gym.
Keurigs are not a thing yet & you’re too lazy to make a pot of coffee
so you mix Crystal Light in a Tupperware cup and head
to the pool in your lime green sling bikini & flowered jean shorts
that are still somewhere in the back of your closet. You don’t believe
in sunscreen because this is 10 years before the squamous cell carcinoma
appears on your nose, 20 before the crepey skin on your neck.
You have lower lashes you take for granted. Your hair’s long & moussed &
freshly highlighted with a cap. You own 30 neon scrunchies.
One hugs your wrist as you read Vonnegut on a blue chaise
& you have all of June & July & August
& time is so slow & you will never feel this free again.
You head back to watch Supermarket Sweep & you’re angry
at the contestants that waste time grinding beans
instead of going straight for the health and beauty aisle.
After, you play Zelda on the Nintendo. Now, you forget how to play
the game but remember she was young & blond & magical.
You listen to Sting’s “Fields of Gold”
over and over through your tower speakers.
This is your favorite song. Not “All Apologies” or “Creep.”
You eat your Lean Cuisine spaghetti on your gray sectional couch,
settle in to watch Press Your Luck,
pray for no Whammies—
Lieve Ransijn