Recording of me reading this poem:
Right Now
It's 1989 and I'm crying
after seeing the blood in my cut
It's 1991 and I'm reaching
for a hamburger bun
It's 1995 and I'm listening
to your bickering at midnight
It's 1998 and I'm drafting
off State and A
It's 2002 and I want to
keep dancing with you
It's 2003 and I'm meeting you
in our new dorm room
It's 2009 and you just twisted
to kiss me in darkness
It's 2011 and you're in the men's room
telling me not to feel guilty
It's 2016 and you're sending me
off with breakfast
It's 2018 and you just emerged
from your exhausted birthplace
It's 2020 and I'm trying
to understand you through your mask
It's 2024 and you're bringing me
more towels for my tears
It's spring in Kyoto and I'm walking
to the river with a konbini drink
It's an overcast day and you're drawing
triangles on the driveway
It's pandemic and you're calling
to tell me he didn't make it
I'm in Texas driving to visit you
and I just missed my exit
It's right now and my foot
is tingling so I'm sitting up
It's right now
and I'm editing this again
It's right now and this
has just gone through
It's right now and you're reading this
and I love you
This poem is directly inspired by “When the End of the World Comes” by Rachel Kann. If you like my work, you will love hers.
It's right now and this is like forever, Mike. Thanks for sharing!
Whew. I read, and I listened, I breathed. This is good, really good. For some reason I want to say that this poem is something to "try on," to wrap around my shoulders, to pull up to my chin and take comfort in.
Also, your two-sentence sub-title captures the structure and movement of this poem so well. Well done, Mike Speriosu!